DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


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THOMAS    HARDY 


AUTHOR    OF    '•  FAR    FROM    THE    MADDIN<;    CKOWD,"    "  A    PAIR  OF    BLUE    EVES," 
"  UNDER   THE    GREENWOOD  TREE,"   ETC. 


"  Though  a  course  of  adventures  which  are  only  con- 
nected with  each  other  by  havin^r  happened  to  the  same 
individual  is  what  most  freqi  '•ally  occurs  in  nature,  yet 
the  province  of  the  roman  <:  writer  being  artificial, 
there  is  more  required  from  him  than  a  mere  compli- 
ance with  the  simplicity  of  re«!ity," — Sir  Walter  Scott. 


NEW  YORK 

HOVENDON     COMPANY 

17  &  19  Waverley  Place 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


in  ftp  ://www.arcli  ive.org/details/desperateremedieOOIiardiala 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PAGI 
TH£   EVENTS   OF  THIRTY    YEARS I 


CHAPTER   n. 
THE    EVENTS  OF  A   FORTNIGHT l6 

CHAPTER   HI. 

THE    EVENTS   OF  EIGHT    DAYS    3O 

CHAPTER   IV. 
THE    EVENTS   OF  ONE  DAY , 49 

CHAPTER   V. 
THE    EVENTS  OF  ONE   DAY 55 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  EVENTS  OF  TWELVE  HOURS 75 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  EVENTS   OF  EIGHTEEN   DAYS 96 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

PACB 
THE  EVENTS  OF  EIGHTEEN  DAYS 112 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  EVENTS   OF  TEN   WEEKS I4O 

CHAPTER   X. 

THE    EVENTS  OF  A  DAY  AND   NIGHT 164 

CHAPTER   XI. 
THE  EVENTS  OF  FIVE  DAYS 187 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    EVENTS  OF  TEN    MONTHS 2H 

CHAPTER  XIII, 

THE    EVENTS  OF  ONE   DAY 235 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   EVENTS   OF  FIVE   DAYS 275 

CHAPTER   XV. 

THE   EVENTS    OF    THREE  WEEKl 286 

chap.:er  XVI. 

THE   EVENTS  OF  ONE  WEEK 298 


CONTENTS.         .  vU 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

PAGB 
THE    EVENTS  OF  ONE  TjAY 313 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE   EVENTS   OF   THREE    DAY? 325 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE    EVENTS   OF  A   DAY   AND    NIGHT 341 

CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   EVENTS   OF   THREE   HOURS 372 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  EVENTS   OF  EIGHTEEN   YEARS 380 

EPILOGUE 396 


Desperate  Remedies. 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  EVENTS  OF  THIRTY  YEARS. 


§  I.  December  and  January,  1835-36. 

IN  the  long  and  intricately  inwrought  chain  of  circum  • 
stance  which  renders  worthy  of  record  some  experi- 
ences of  Cytherea  Graye,  Edward  Springrove,  and  others, 
the  first  event  directly  influencing  the  issue  was  a  Christmas 
visit. 

In  the  above-mentioned  year  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirty-five,  Ambrose  Graye,  a  young  architect  who  had  just 
commenced  the  practice  of  his  profession  in  the  midland 
town  of  Hocbridge,  went  to  London  to  spend  the  Christmas 
holidays  with  a  friend  who  lived  in  Bloomsbury.  They  had 
gone  up  to  Cambridge  in  the  same  year,  and,  after  graduat- 
ing together,  Huntway,  the  friend,  had  entered  orders. 

Graye  was  handsome,  frank,  and  gentle.  He  had  a  vola- 
tility of  thought  which,  exercised  on  homeliness,  was  hu- 
mor ;  on  nature,  picturesqueness  ;  on  abstractions,  poetry. 
Being,  as  a  rule,  broadcast,  it  was  all  three. 

Of  the  wickedness  of  the  world  he  was  too  forgetful.  To 
discover  evil  in  a  new  friend  is  to  most  people  only  an 
additional  experience  ;  to  him  it  was  ever  a  surprise. 

While  in  London  he  became  acquainted  with  a  retired 
officer  in  the  navy  named  Bradleigh,  who,  with  his  wife  and 
their  daughter,  lived  in  a  small  street  not  far  from  Russell 


2  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Square.  Though  they  were  in  no  more  than  comfortable 
circumstances,  the  captain's  wife  came  of  an  ancient  family 
whose  genealogical  tree  was  interlaced  with  some  of  the 
most  illustrious  and  well-knov/n  m  the  kingdom. 

The  young  lady,  their  daughter,  seemed  to  Graye  by  far 
the  most  beautiful  and  queenly  being  he  had  ever  beheld. 
She  was  about  nineteen  or  twenty,  and  her  name  was  Cy- 
thcrea.  In  truth  she  was  not  so  very  unlike  country  girls 
of  that  type  of  beauty,  except  in  one  respect.  She  was 
perfect  in  her  manner  and  bearing,  and  they  were  not.  A 
mere  distinguishing  peculiarity,  by  catching  the  eye,  is  often 
read  as  the  pervading  characteristic,  and  she  appeared  to 
him  no  less  than  perfection  throughout — transcending  her 
rural  rivals  in  very  nature.  Graye  did  a  thing  the  blissful- 
ness  of  which  was  only  eclipsed  by  its  hazardousness.  He 
loved  her  at  first  sight. 

His  introductions  had  led  him  into  contact  with  Cytherea 
and  her  parents  two  or  three  times  on  the  first  week  of  his 
arrival  in  London,  and  accident  and  a  lover's  contrivance 
brought  them  together  as  frequently  the  week  following. 
The  parents  liked  young  Graye,  and  having  few  friends  (for 
their  equals  in  blood  were  their  superiors  in  position),  he 
was  received  on  very  generous  terms.  His  passion  for 
Cytherea  grew  not  only  strong,  but  ineffably  strong ;  she, 
without  positively  encouraging  him,  tacitly  assented  to  his 
schemes  for  being  near  her.  Her  father  and  mother  seemed 
to  have  lost  all  confidence  in  nobility  of  birth,  without  money 
to  give  effect  to  its  presence,  and  looked  upon  the  budding 
consequence  of  the  young  people's  reciprocal  glances  with 
placidity,  if  not  actual  favor. 

Graye's  whole  delicious  dream  terminated  in  a  sad  and 
unaccountable  episode.  After  passing  through  three  weeks 
of  sweet  experience,  he  had  arrived  at  the  last  stage — a  kind 
of  moral  Gaza — before  plunging  into  an  emotional  desert. 
The  second  week  in  January  had  come  round,  and  it  was 
necessary  for  the  young  architect  to  leave  town. 

Throughout  his  acquaintrnceship  with  the  lady  of  his 
heart  there  had  been  this  niarked  peculiarity  in  her  love  : 
she  had  delighted  in  his  presence  as  a  sweetheart  should, 
yet  from  first  to  last  she  had  repressed  all  recognition  of  the 
true  nature  of  the  thread  which  drew  them  together,  blinding 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  3 

herself  to  its  meaning  and  only  natural  tendency,  and  ap- 
pearing to  dread  his  announcement  of  them.  The  present 
seemed  enough  for  her  without  cumulative  hope  :  usually, 
even  if  love  is  in  itself  an  end,  it  must  be  regarded  as  a 
beginning,  to  be  enjoyed. 

In  spite  of  evasions  as  an  obstacle,  and  in  consequence 
of  them  as  a  spur,  he  would  put  the  matter  off  no  longer. 
It  was  evening.  He  took  her  into  a  little  conservatory  on 
the  landing,  and  there  among  the  evergreens,  by  the  light 
of  a  few  tiny  lamps,  infinitely  enhancing  the  freshness  and 
beauty  of  the  leaves,  he  made  the  declaration  of  a  love  as 
fresh  and  beautiful  as  they. 

"  My  love — my  darling,  be  my  wife  ! " 

"  We  must  part  now,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  of  agony.  "  I 
will  write  to  you."  She  loosened  her  hand  and  rushed 
away. 

In  a  wild  fever  Graye  went  home  and  watched  for  the 
next  morning.  Who  shall  express  his  misery  and  wonder 
when  a  note  containing  these  words  was  put  into  his  hand  ? 

"  Good-by ;  good-by  forever.  As  recognized  lovers 
.-,omething  divides  us  eternally.  Forgive  me — I  should  have 
told  you  before  ;  but  your  love  was  sweet !  Never  mention 
me." 

That  very  day,  and  as  it  seemed,  to  put  an  end  to  a 
painful  condition  of  things,  daughter  and  parents  left  London 
to  pay  off  a  promised  visit  to  a  relative  in  a  western 
county.  No  letter  or  message  of  entreaty  could  wring 
from  her  any  explanation.  She  begged  him  not  to  follow 
her,  and  the  most  bewildering  point  was  that  her  father  and 
mother  appeared,  from  the  tone  of  a  letter  Graye  received 
from  them,  as  vexed  and  sad  as  he  at  this  sudden  renuncia- 
tion. One  thing  was  plain  :  without  admitting  her  reason 
as  valid,  they  knew  what  that  reason  was,  and  did  not  intend 
to  reveal  it. 

A  week  from  that  day  Ambrose  Graye  left  his  friend 
Huntway's  house  and  saw  no  more  of  the  Love  he  mourned. 
From  time  to  time  his  friend  answered  any  inquiry  Graye 
made  by  letter  respecting  her.  But  very  poor  food  to  a 
lover  is  intelligence  of  a  mistress  filtered  through  a  friend. 
Huntway  could  tell  nothing  definitely.  He  said  he  believed 
there  had  been  some  prior  flirtation  between  Cytherea  and 


^  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

some  mysterious  officer  of  the  line,  two  or  three  years  before 
Graye  met  her,  which  had  suddenly  been  terminated  by  the 
vanishing  of  her  vague  military  lover,  and  the  young  lady's 
travelling  on  the  Continent  with  her  parents  the  whole  of  the 
ensuing  summer,  on  account  of  delicate  health.  Eventually 
Huntway  said  that  circumstances  had  rendered  Graye's  at- 
tachment more  hopeless  still,  Cytherea's  mother  had  unex- 
pectedly inherited  a  large  fortune  and  estates  in  the  west  of 
England  by  the  rapid  fall  of  some  intervening  lives.  This 
had  caused  their  removal  from  the  small  house  by  Gower 
Street,  and,  as  it  appeared,  a  renunciation  of  their  old  friends 
in  that  quarter. 

Young  Graye  concluded  that  his  Cytherea  had  forgotten 
him  and  his  love.     But  he  could  not  forget  her. 


§  2.  From  1843  to  1861. 

Eight  years  later,  feeUng  lonely  and  depressed — a  man 
without  relatives,  with  many  acquaintances  but  no  friends, 
— Ambrose  Graye  met  a  young  lady  of  a  different  kind,  fairly 
endowed  with  money  and  good  gifts.  As  to  caring  very 
deeply  for  another  woman  after  the  loss  of  Cytherea,  it  was 
an  absolute  impossibility  with  him.  With  all,  the  beautiful 
things  of  the  earth  become  more  dear  as  they  elude  pursuit ; 
but  with  some  natures  utter  elusion  is  the  one  special  event 
which  will  make  a  passing  love  permanent  forever. 

This  second  young  lady  and  Graye  were  married.  That 
he  did  not,  first  or  last,  love  his  wife  as  he  should  have  done, 
was  known  to  all ;  but  few  knew  that  his  unmanageable 
heart  could  never  be  weaned  from  useless  repining  at  thf; 
loss  of  its  first  idol. 

His  character  to  some  extent  deteriorated,  as  emotional 
constitutions  will  under  the  long  sense  of  disappointment  at 
having  missed  their  imagined  destiny.  And  thus,  though 
naturally  of  a  gentle  and  pleasant  disposition,  he  grew  to  be 
not  so  tenderly  regarded  by  his  acquaintances  as  it  is  the 
lot  of  some  of  those  persons  to  be.  The  winning  and  san- 
guine impressibility  of  his  early  life  developed  by  degrees  a 
moody  nervousness,  and  when  not  picturing  prospects  drawn 
from  baseless  hope  he  was  the  victim  of  indescribable  de. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


5 


pression.  The  practical  issue  of  such  a  condition  was  im- 
providence, originally  almost  an  unconscious  improvidence, 
for  every  debt  incurred  had  been  mentally  paid  off  with 
religious  exactness  from  the  treasures  of  expectation  before 
mentioned.  But  as  years  revolved,  the  same  course  was 
continued,  from  the  lack  of  spirit  sufficient  for  shifting  out 
of  an  old  groove  when  it  has  been  found  to  lead  to  disaster. 

In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-one  his  wife  died, 
leaving  him  a  widower  with  two  children.  The  elder,  a  son 
named  Owen,  now  just  turned  seventeen,  was  taken  from 
school,  and  initiated  as  pupil  to  the  profession  of  architect  in 
his  father's  office.  The  remaining  child  was  a  daughter,  and 
Owen's  junior  by  a  year. 

Her  Christian  name  was  Cytherea,  and  it  is  easy  to  guess 
why. 

§  3.  October  the  twelfth,  1863. 

We  pass  over  two  years  in  order  to  reach  the  next  cardinal 
event  of  the  story.  The  scene  is  still  the  Grayes'  native  town 
of  Hocbridge,  but  as  it  appeared  on  a  Monday  afternoon  in 
the  month  of  October. 

The  weather  was  sunny  and  dry,  but  the  ancient  borough 
was  to  be  seen  wearing  one  of  its  least  attractive  aspects. 
First  on  account  of  the  time.  It  was  that  stagnant  hour  of 
the  twenty-four  when  the  practical  garishness  of  Day,  having 
escaped  from  the  fresh  long  shadows  and  enlivening  newness 
of  the  morning,  has  not  yet  made  any  perceptible  advance 
towards  acquiring  those  mellow  and  soothing  tones  which 
grace  its  decline.  Next,  it  was  that  stage  in  the  progress  of 
the  week  when  business — which,  carried  on  under  the  gables 
of  an  old  country  place,  is  not  devoid  of  a  romantic  sparkle 
— was  well-nigh  extinguished.  Lastly,  the  town  was  inten- 
tionally bent  upon  being  attractive  by  exhibiting  to  an  influx 
of  visitors  the  local  talent  for  dramatic  recitation,  and  pro- 
vincial towns  trying  to  be  lively  are  the  dullest  of  dull  things. 

Provincial  towns  are  like  little  children  in  this  respect,  that 
they  interest  most  when  they  are  enacting  native  peculiarities 
unconscious  of  beholders.  Discovering  themselves  to  be 
watched  they  attempt  to  be  entertaining  by  putting  on  an 
antic,  and  produce  disagreeable  caricatures  which  spoil  them. 


6  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  weather-stained  clock  face  in  the  low  church  towei 
standing  at  the  intersection  of  the  three  chief  streets  was  ex- 
pressing half-past  two  to  the  Town-Hall  opposite,  where  the 
much  talked-of  reading  from  Shakespeare  was  about  to  be 
commenced.  The  doors  were  open,  and  those  persons  who 
had  already  assembled  within  the  building  were  noticing  the 
entrance  of  the  new-comers — silently  criticising  their  dresses 
— questioning  the  genuineness  of  their  teeth  and  hair — esti- 
mating their  private  means. 

Among  these  later  ones  came  an  exceptional  young  maiden 
who  glowed  amid  the  dulness  like  a  single  bright-red  poppy 
in  a  field  of  brown  stubble.  She  wore  an  elegant  dark  jacket, 
lavender  dress,  hat  with  gray  strings  and  trimmings,  and 
gloves  of  a  color  to  harmonize.  She  lightly  walked  up  the 
side  passage  of  the  room,  cast  a  slight  glance  around,  and  en- 
tered the  seat  pointed  out  to  her.. 

The  young  girl  was  Cytherea  Graye,  her  age  was  now 
about  eighteen.  During  her  entry,  and  at  various  times 
whilst  sitting  in  her  seat  and  listening  to  the  reader  on  the 
platform,  her  personal  appearance  formed  an  interesting  sub- 
ject of  study  for  several  neighboring  eyes. 

Her  face  was  exceedingly  attractive,  though  artistically  less 
perfect  than  her  figure,  which  approached  unusually  near  to 
the  standard  of  faultlessness.  But  even  this  feature  of  hers 
yielded  the  palm  to  the  gracefulness  of  her  movement,  which 
was  fascinating  and  delightful  to  an  extreme  degree. 

Indeed,  motion  was  her  speciality,  whether  shown  on  its 
most  extended  scale  of  bodily  progression,  or  minutely,  as  in 
the  uplifting  of  her  eyelids,  the  bending  of  her  fingers,  the 
pouting  of  her  lip.  The  carriage  of  her  head — motion  within 
motion — a  glide  upon  a  glide — was  as  delicate  as  that  of  a 
magnetic  needle.  And  this  flexibility  and  elasticity  had  never 
been  taught  her  by  rule,  nor  even  been  acquired  by  observa- 
tion, but,  nulla  cultu,  had  naturally  developed  itself  with  her 
years.  In  childhood,  a  stone  or  stalk  in  the  way,  which  had 
been  the  inevitable  occasion  of  a  fall  to  her  playmates,  had 
usually  left  her  safe  and  upright  on  her  feet  after  the  narrow- 
est escape  by  oscillations  and  whirls  for  the  preservation  of 
her  balance.  At  mixed  Christmas  parties,  when  she  num- 
bered but  twelve  or  thirteen  years,  and  was  heartily  despised 
on  that  account  by  lads  who  deemed  themselves  men,  hei 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  y 

apt  lightness  in  the  dance  covered  this  incompleteness  in  her 
womanhood,  and  compelled  the  self-same  youths  in  spite  of 
resolutions  to  seize  upon  her  childish  figure  as  a  partner  whom 
they  could  not  afford  to  contemn.  And  in  later  years,  when 
the  instincts  of  her  sex  had  shown  her  this  point  as  the  best 
and  rarest  feature  in  her  external  self,  she  was  not  found 
wanting  in  attention  to  the  cultivation  of  finish  in  its  details. 

Her  hair  rested  gayly  upon  her  shoulders  in  curls,  and  was  of 
a  shining  corn  yellow  in  the  high  lights,  deepening  to  a  defi- 
nite nut  brown  as  each  curl  wound  round  into  the  shade.  She 
had  eyes  of  a  sapphire  hue,  though  rather  darker  than  the  gem 
ordinarily  appears  ;  they  possessed  the  affectionate  and  liquid 
sparkle  of  loyalty  and  good  faith  as  distinguishable  from  that 
harder  brightness  which  seems  to  express  faithfulness  only  to 
the  object  confronting  them. 

But  to  attempt  to  gain  a  view  of  her — or  indeed  of  any 
fascinating  woman — fr«m  a  measured  category,  is  as  difficult 
as  to  appreciate  the  effect  of  a  landscape  by  exploring  it  at 
night  with  a  lantern — or  of  a  full  chord  of  music  by  piping 
the  notes  in  succession.  Nevertheless  it  may  readily  be  be- 
lieved from  the  description  here  ventured,  that  among  the 
many  winning  phases  of  her  aspect,  these  were  particularly 
striking  : — 

1.  During  pleasant  doubt,  when  her  eyes  brightened 
stealthily  and  smiled  (as  eyes  will  smile)  as  distinctly  as  her 
lips,  and  in  the  space  of  a  single  instant  expressed  clearly 
the  whole  round  of  degrees  of  expectancy  which  lie  over 
the  wide  expanse  between  Yea  and  Nay. 

2.  During  the  telling  of  a  secret,  which  was  involuntarily 
accompanied  by  a  sudden  minute  start,  and  ecstatic  pressure 
of  the  listener's  arm,  side,  or  neck,  as  the  position  and  de- 
gree of  intimacy  dictated. 

3.  When  anxiously  regarding  one  who  possessed  her 
affections. 

She  suddenly  assumed  the  last-mentioned  bearing  during 
the  progress  of  the  present  entertainment.  Her  glance  was 
directed  out  of  the  window. 

Why  the  particulars  of  a  young  lady's  presence  at  a  very 
mediocre  performance  were  prevented  from  dropping  into 
the  oblivion  which  their  intrinsic  insignificance  would  natu- 
rally have  involved — why  they  were  remembered  and  indiv 


8  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

idualized  by  herself  and  others  through  after  years — was 
simply  that  she  unknowingly  stood,  as  it  were,  upon  the  ex- 
treme posterior  ^^go.  of  a  track  in  her  life,  in  which  the  real 
meaning  of  Taking  Thought  had  never  been  known.  It  was 
the  last  hour  of  experience  she  ever  enjoyed  with  a  mind 
entirely  free  from  a  knowledge  of  that  labyrinth  into  which 
she  stepped  immediately  afterwards — to  continue  a  perplexed 
course  along  its  mazes  for  the  greater  portion  of  twenty-nine 
subsequent  months. 

The  Town  Hall,  in  which  Cytherea  sat,  was  an  Eliza- 
bethan building  of  brown  stone,  and  the  windows  were  divided 
into  an  upper  and  a  lower  half  by  a  transom  of  masonry. 
Through  one  opening  of  the  upper  half  could  be  seen  from 
the  interior  of  the  room  the  housetops  and  chimneys  of  the 
adjacent  street,  and  also  the  upper  part  of  a  neighboring 
church  spire,  now  in  course  of  completion  under  the  super- 
intendence of  Miss  Graye's  father,  the  architect  to  the  work. 

That  the  top  of  this  spire  should  be  visible  from  her  posi- 
tion in  the  room  was  a  fact  which  Cytherea's  idling  eyes  had 
discovered  with  some  interest,  and  she  was  now  engaged  in 
watching  the  scene  that  was  being  enacted  about  its  airy 
summit.  Round  the  conical  stonework  rose  a  cage  of  scaf- 
folding against  the  white  sky ;  and  upon  this  stood  five  men 
— four  in  clothes  as  white  as  the  new  erection  close  beneath 
their  hands,  the  fifth  in  the  ordinary  dark  suit  of  a  gentle- 
man. 

The  four  working-men  in  white  were  three  masons  and  a 
mason's  laborer.  The  fifth  man  was  the  architect,  Mr. 
Graye.  He  had  been  giving  directions  as  it  seemed,  and 
now,  retiring  as  far  as  the  narrow  footway  allowed,  stood 
perfectly  still. 

The  picture  tluis  presented  to  a  spectator  in  the  Town 
Hall  was  curious  and  striking.  It  was  an  illuminated  minia- 
ture, framed  in  by  the  dark  margin  of  the  window,  the  keen- 
edged  shadiness  of  which  emphasized  by  contrast  the  softness 
of  the  objects  enclosed. 

The  height  of  the  spire  was  about  one  hundred  and  twenty 
feet,  and  the  five  men  engaged  thereon  seemed  entirely  re- 
moved from  the  sphere  and  experiences  of  ordinary  human 
beings.  They  appeared  little  larger  than  pigeons,  and  made 
their  tiny  movements  with  a  soft,  spirit-like  silentness.     One 


*  DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  g 

idea  above  all  others  was  conveyed  to  the  mind  of  a  person 
on  the  ground  by  their  aspect,  namely,  concentration  of 
purpose  ;  that  they  were  indifferent  to — even  unconscious 
of — the  distracted  world  beneath  them,  and  all  that  moved 
upon  it.     They  never  looked  off  he  scaffolding. 

Then  one  of  them  turned  ;  it  was  Mr.  Graye.  Again  he 
stood  motionless,  with  attention  to  the  operations  of  the 
others.  He  appeared  to  be  lost  in  reflection,  and  had 
directed  his  face  towards  a  new  stone  they  were  Hfting. 

"  Why  does  he  stand  like  that  ?  "  the  young  lady  thought 
at  length,  up  to  that  moment  as  listless  and  careless  as  one 
of  the  ancient  Tarentines,  who,  on  such  an  afternoon  as 
this,  watched  from  the  Theatre  the  entry  into  their  Harbor 
of  a  power  that  overturned  the  State. 

She  moved  herself  uneasily.  '*  I  wish  he  would  come 
down,"  she  whispered,  still  gazing  at  the  sky-backed  picture. 
"  It  is  so  dangerous  to  be  absent-minded  up  there." 

When  she  had  done  murmuring  the  words  her  father  in- 
decisively laid  hold  of  one  of  the  scaffold-poles,  as  if  to  test 
its  strength,  then  let  it  go  and  stepped  back.  In  stepping, 
his  foot  slipped.  An  instant  of  doubling  forward  and  side- 
ways, and  he  reeled  off  into  the  air,  immediately  disappear- 
ing downwards. 

His  agonized  daughter  rose  to  her  feet  by  a  convulsive 
movement.  Her  lips  parted,  and  she  gasped  for  breath.  She 
could  utter  no  sound.  One  by  one  the  people  about  her, 
unconscious  of  what  had  happened,  turned  their  heads,  and 
inquiry  and  alarm  became  visible  upon  their  faces  at  the 
sight  of  the  poor  child.  A  moment  longer,  and  she  fell  to 
the  floor. 

The  next  impression  of  which  Cytherea  had  any  conscious- 
ness was  of  being  carried  from  a  strange  vehicle  across  the 
pavement  to  the  steps  of  her  own  house  by  her  brother  and 
an  older  man.  Recollection  of  what  had  passed  evolved 
itself  an  instant  later,  and  just  as  they  entered  the  door — 
through  which  another  and  sadder  burden  had  been  carried 
but  a  few  instants  before — her  eyes  caught  sight  of  the 
south-western  sky,  and,  without  heeding,  saw  white  sunlight 
shining  in  shaft-like  lines  from  a  rift  in  a  slaty  cloud. 
Emotions  will  attach  themselves  to  scenes  that  are  simul- 
taneous— however  foreign  in  essence  these  scents  may  be  -^ 
I* 


lO  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

as  chemical  waters  will  crystallize  on  twigs  and  wires.  Ever 
after  that  time  any  mental  agony  brought  less  vividly  to 
Cytherea's  mind  the  scene  from  the  Town  Hall  windows  than 
sunlight  streaming  in  shaft-like  lines. 


§  4.  October  the  nineteenth. 

When  death  enters  a  house,  an  element  of  sadness  and  an 
element  of  horror  accompany  it.  Sadness,  from  the  death 
itself;  horror,  from  the  clouds  of  blackness  we  designedly 
labor  to  introduce. 

The  funeral  had  taken  place.  Depressed,  yet  resolved  in 
his  demeanor,  Owen  Gra)'e  sat  before  his  father's  private 
escritoire,  engaged  in  turning  out  and  unfolding  a  heteroge- 
neous collection  of  papers — forbidding  and  inharmonious  to 
the  eye  at  all  times — most  of  all  to  one  under  the  influence 
of  a  great  grief.  Lamina^  of  white  paper  tied  with  twine 
were  indiscriminately  intermixed  with  other  white  papers 
bounded  by  black  edges — these  with  blue  foolscap  wrapped 
round  with  crude  red  tape. 

The  bulk  of  these  letters,  bills,  and  other  documents 
were  submitted  to  a  careful  examination,  by  which  the  ap- 
pended particulars  were  ascertained  : — 

F"irst,  that  their  father's  income  from  professional  sources 
had  been  very  small,  amounting  to  not  more  than  half  their 
expenditure  ;  and  that  his  own  and  his  wife's  property,  upon 
which  he  had  relied  for  the  balance,  had  been  sunk  and  lost 
in  unwise  loans  to  unscrupulous  men,  who  had  traded  upon 
their  father's  too  open-hearted  trustfulness. 

Second,  that  finding  his  mistake,  he  had  endeavored  to 
/.■egain  his  standing  by  the  illusory  path  of  speculation.  The 
most  notable  instance  of  this  was  the  following.  He  had 
been  induced,  when  at  Plymouth  in  the  autumn  of  the  pre- 
vious year,  to  venture  all  his  spare  capital  on  the  bottomry 
security  of  an  Italian  brig  which  had  put  into  the  harbor  in 
distress.  The  profit  was  to  be  considerable,  so  was  the  risk. 
There  turned  out  to  be  no  security  whatever.  The  circum- 
stances of  the  case  rendered  it  the  most  unfortunate  specu- 
lation that  a  man  like  himself — ignorant  of  all  such  matters 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  \\ 

— could  possibly  engage  in.     The  vessel  went  down,  ai.d  all 
Mr.  Graye's  money  with  it. 

Third,  that  these  failures  had  left  him  burdened  with 
debts  he  knew  not  how  to  meet ;  so  that  at  the  time  of  his 
death  even  the  few  pounds  lying  to  his  account  at  the  bank 
were  his  only  in  name. 

Fourth,  that  the  loss  of  his  wife  two  years  earlier  had 
awakened  him  to  a  keen  sense  of  his  blindness,  and  of  hir 
duty  by  his  children.  He  had  then  resolved  to  reinstate  by 
unflagging  zeal  in  the  pursuit  of  his  profession,  and  by  no 
speculation,  at  least  a  portion  of  the  little  fortune  he  had  let 
go. 

Cytherea  was  frequently  at  her  brother's  elbow  during 
these  examinations.     She  often  remarked  sadly, 

"  Poor  papa  failed  to  fulfil  his  good  intention  for  want  of 
time,  didn't  he,  Owen?  And  there  was  an  excuse  for  his 
past,  though  he  never  would  claim  it,  I  never  forget  that 
original  disheartening  blow,  and  how  that  from  it  sprang  all 
the  ills  of  his  life — everything  connected  with  his  gloom,  and 
the  lassitude  in  business  we  used  so  often  to  see  about  him." 

"  I  remember  what  he  said  once,"  returned  the  brother, 
"  when  I  sat  up  late  with  him.  He  said,  '  Owen,  don't  love 
too  blindly  :  blindly  you  will  love  if  you  love  at  all,  but  a 
little  care  is  still  possible  to  a  well-disciplined  heart.  May 
that  heart  be  yours  as  it  was  not  mine,'  father  said.  '  Culti- 
vate the  art  of  renunciation,'     And  I  am  going  to,  Cytherea." 

"And  once  mamma  said  that  an  excellent  woman  was 
papa's  ruin,  because  he  did  not  know  the  way  to  give  her  up 
when  he  had  lost  her.  I  wonder  where  she  is  now,  Owen  ? 
We  were  told  not  to  try  to  find  out  anything  about  her. 
Papa  never  told  us  her  name,  did  he  ?  " 

"That  was  by  her  own  request,  I  believe.  But  never 
mind  her  ;  she  was  not  our  mother." 

The  love  affair  which  had  been  Ambrose  Graye's  dis- 
heartening blow  was  precisely  of  that  nature  which  lads  t«Uve 
little  account  of,  but  girls  ponder  in  their  hearts. 


§  5.  From  October  the  nineteenth  to  July  the  ninth. 
Thus  Ambrose  Graye's  good  intentions  with  regard  to 


12  DESPERATE   REMEDIES, 

the  reintegration  of  his  property  had  scarcely  taken  tangi- 
ble  form  when  his  sudden  death  put  them  forever  out  of  his 
power. 

Heavy  bills,  showing  the  extent  of  his  obligations,  tum- 
bled in  immediately  upon  the  heels  of  the  funeral  from 
quarters  previously  unheard  and  unthought  of.  Thus 
pressed,  a  bill  was  filed  in  Chancery  to  have  the  assets,  such 
as  they  were,  administered  by  the  Court. 

"  What  will  become  of  us  now  ? "  thought  Owen  con 
tinually. 

There  is  an  unquenchable  expectation,  which  at  the 
gloomiest  time  persists  in  inferring  that  because  we  are 
ourselves^  there  must  be  a  special  future  in  store  for  us, 
though  our  nature  and  antecedents  to  the  remotest  particu- 
lar have  been  common  to  thousands. 

Thus  to  Cytherea  and  Owen  Graye  the  question  how 
their  lives  would  end  seemed  the  deepest  of  possible 
enigmas.  To  others  who  knew  their  position  equally  well 
with  themselves  the  question  was  the  easiest  that  could  be 
asked. — "  Like  those  of  other  people  similarly  circum- 
stanced." 

Then  Owen  held  a  consultation  with  his  sister  to  come  to 
some  decision  on  their  future  course,  and  a  month  was 
passed  in  waiting  for  answers  to  letters,  and  in  the  examina- 
tion of  schemes  more  or  less  futile.  Sudden  hopes  that 
were  rainbows  to  the  sight  proved  but  mists  to  the  touch. 
In  the  meantime,  unpleasant  remarks,  disguise  them  as 
well-meaning  people  might,  were  floating  around  them  every 
day.  The  undoubted  truth,  that  they  were  the  children  of  a 
dreamer  who  let  slip  away  every  farthing  of  his  money  and 
ran  into  debt  with  his  neighbors — that  the  daughter  had 
been  brought  up  to  no  profession — that  the  son  who  had, 
had  made  no  progress  in  it,  and  might  come  to  the  dogs — 
could  not  from  the  nature  of  things  be  wrapped  up  in 
silence  in  order  that  it  might  not  hurt  their  feelings  ;  and  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  it  greeted  their  ears  in  some  form  or  other 
wherever  they  went.  Their  few  acquaintances  passed  them 
hurriedly.  Ancient  potwallopers,  and  thriving  shopkeepers, 
in  their  intervals  of  leisure,  stood  at  their  shop  doors — their 
toes  hanging  over  the  edge  of  the  step,  and  their  obese 
waists   hanging   over   their    toes — and   in    discourses   with 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  Ij 

friends  on  the  pavement,  formulated  the  course  of  the  im- 
provident, and  reduced  the  children's  prospects  to  a  shadow- 
like attenuation.  The  sons  of  these  men  (who  wore  breast- 
pins of  a  sarcastic  kind,  and  smoked  humorous  pipes)  stared 
at  Cytherea  with  a  stare  unmitigated  by  any  of  the  respect 
that  had  formerly  softened  it. 

Now  it  is  a  noticeable  fact  that  we  do  not  much  mind 
what  men  think  of  us,  or  what  humiliating  secret  they  dis- 
cover of  our  means,  parentage,  or  object,  provided  that  each 
thinks  and  acts  thereupon  in  isolation.  It  is  the  exchange 
of  ideas  about  us  that  we  dread  most ;  and  the  possession 
by  a  hundred  acquaintances,  severally  insulated,  of  the 
knowledge  of  our  skeleton-closet's  whereabouts,  is  not  so 
distressing  to  the  nerves  as  a  chat  over  it  by  a  party  of  half 
a  dozen — exclusive  depositaries  though  these  may  be. 

Perhaps,  though  Hocbridge  watched  and  whispered,  its 
animus  would  have  been  little  more  than  a  trifle  to  persons 
in  thriving  circumstances.  But  unfortunately,  poverty, 
whilst  it  is  new,  and  before  the  skin  has  had  time  to  thicken, 
makes  people  susceptible  inversely  to  their  opportunities  for 
shielding  themselves.  In  Owen  was  found,  in  place  of  his 
father's  impressibility,  a  larger  share  of  his  father's  pride,  and 
a  squarenes's  of  idea  which,  if  coupled  with  a  little  more 
blindness,  would  have  amounted  to  positive  prejudice.  To 
him  humanity,  so  far  as  he  had  thought  of  it  at  all,  was 
rather  divided  into  distinct  classes  than  blended  from  ex- 
treme to  extreme.  Hence  by  a  sequence  of  ideas  which 
might  be  traced  if  it  were  worth  while,  he  either  detested  or 
respected  opinion,  and  instinctively  sought  to  escape  a  cold 
shade  that  mere  sensitiveness  would  have  endured.  He 
could  have  submitted  to  separation,  sickness,  exile,  drudgery, 
hunger  and  thirst,  with  stoical  indifference,  but  supercilious- 
ness was  too  incisive. 

After  living  on  for  nine  months  in  attempts  to  make  an 
income  as  his  father's  successor  in  the  i^rofession — attempts 
which  were  utterly  fruitless  by  reason  of  his  inexperience — 
Graye  came  to  a  simple  and  sweeping  resolution.  They 
would  privately  leave  that  part  of  England,  droj)  from  the 
sight  of  acquaintances,  gossips,  harsh  critics,  and  bitter  cred- 
itors of  whose  misfortune  he  was  not  the  cause,  and  escape 
the  position  which  galled  hin:  by  the  only  road  their  great 


14 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


poverty  left  open  to  them — that  of  his  obtaining  some  em 
ployment  in  a  distant  place  by  following  his  profession  as  an 
humble  under-clerk. 

He  thought  over  his  capabilities  with  the  sensations  of  a 
soldier  grinding  his  sword  at  the  opening  of  a  campaign. 
What  with  lack  of  employn-'ent,  owing  to  the  decrease  of 
his  late  father's  practice,  and  the  absence  of  direct  and  un- 
compromising pressure  tow.irds  monetary  results  from  a 
pupil's  labor  (which  seems  :o  be  always  the  case  when  a 
professional  man's  pupil  is  also  his  son),  Owen's  progress  in 
the  art  and  science  of  architecture  had  been  very  insignifi- 
cant indeed.  Though  anything  but  an  idle  young  man,  he 
had  hardly  reached  the  age  at  which  industrious  men  who 
lack  an  external  whip  to  send  them  on  in  the  world,  are  in- 
duced by  their  own  commo.i-sense  to  whip  on  themselves. 
Hence  his  knowledge  of  plans,  elevations,  sections,  and 
specifications,  was  not  grea^er  at  the  end  of  two  years  of 
probation  than  might  easily  have  been  acquired  in  six 
months  hy  a  youth  of  average  ability — himself,  for  instance, 
— amid  a  bustling  London  practice. 

But  at  any  rate  he  could  make  himself  handy  to  one  of 
the  profession — some  man  ir  a  remote  town — and  there  ful- 
fil his  indentures.  A  tangible  inducement  lay  in  this  direc- 
tion of  survey.  He  had  a  slight  conception  of  such  a  man 
— a  Mr.  Gradfield — who  was  in  practice  in  Creston,  a  sea 
port  town  and  watering-place  in  the  west  of  England. 

After  some  doubts,  Graye  ventured  to  write  to  this  gen- 
tleman, a^ing  the  necessary  question,  shortly  alluding  to 
his  father's  death,  and  stating  that  his  term  of  apprentice- 
ship had  only  half  expired.  He  would  be  glad  to  complete 
his  articles  at  a  very  low  salary  for  the  whole  remaining  two 
years,  provided  payment  could  begin  at  once. 

The  answer  from  Mr.  Gradfield  stated  that  he  was  not  in 
want  of  a  pupil  who  would  ;  erve  the  remainder  of  his  time 
on  the  terms  Mr.  Graye  mentioned.  But  he  would  just  add 
one  remark.  He  chanced  o  be  in  want  of  some  young 
man  in  his  office — for  a  short  time  only,  probably  about  two 
months — to  trace  drawings,  and  attend  to  other  subsidiary 
work  of  the  kind.  If  Mr.  iJraye  did  not  object  to  occupy 
such  an  inferior  position  as  these  duties  would  entail,  and  to 
accept  weekly  wages  which  to  one  with  his  expectations 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  15 

would  be  considered  merely  nominal,  the  post  would  give 
him  an  opportunity  for  learning  a  few  more  details  of  the 
profession. 

"  It  is  a  beginning,  and  above  all,  an  abiding-place,  away 
from  the  shadow  of  the  cloud  which  hangs  over  us  here — I 
will  go,"  said  Owen. 

Cytherea's  plan  for  her  future,  an  intensely  simple  one, 
owing  to  the  even  greater  nanowness  of  her  resources,  was 
already  marked  out.  One  advantage  had  accrued  to  her 
through  her  mother's  possession  of  a  fair  share  of  personal 
property,  and  perhaps  only  one.  She  had  been  carefully 
educated.  Upon  this  consideration  her  plan  was  based. 
She  was  to  take  up  her  abode  in  her  brother's  lodging  at 
Creston,  when  she  would  immediately  advertise  for  a  situa- 
tion as  governess,  having  obtained  the  consent  of  a  lawyer 
at  Reading  who  was  winding  up  her  father's  affairs,  and  who 
knew  the  history  of  her  posi  ion,  to  allow  himself  to  be 
referred  to  in  the  matter  of  her  past  life  and  respectability. 

Early  one  morning  they  departed  from  their  native  town, 
leaving  behind  them  scarcely  a  trace  of  their  footsteps. 

Then  the  town  pitied  their  want  of  wisdom  in  taking  such 
a  step.  "  Rashness ;  they  would  have  done  better  in 
Hocbridge." 

But  what  is  Wisdom  really  ?  A  steady  handling  of  any 
means  to  bring  about  any  end  necessary  to  happiness. 

Yet  whether  one's  end  be  the  usual  end — a  wealthy  posi- 
tion in  life — or  no,  the  name  of  wisdom  is  never  applied  but] 
to  the  means  to  that  usual  end. 


\ 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  EVENTS   OF  A  FORTNIGHT. 
§  I.  The  ninth  of  July. 

THE  day  of  their  departure  was  one  of  the  most  glowing 
that  the  climax  of  a  long  series  of  summer  heats  could 
evolve.  The  wide  expanse  of  landscape  quivered  up  and 
down  like  the  flame  of  a  taper,  as  they  steamed  along 
through  the  midst  of  it.  Placid  flocks  of  sheep  reclining 
under  trees  a  little  way  off  appeared  of  a  pale-blue  color. 
.Clover  fields  were  livid  with  the  brightness  of  the  sun  upon 
.  their  deep-red  flowers.  All  wagons  and  carts  were  moved 
,  to  the  shade  by  their  careful  owners  ;  rain-water  butts  fell  to 
pieces ;  well-buckets  were  lowered  inside  the  covers  of  the 
well-hole,  to  preserve  them  from  the  fate  of  the  butts,  and 
generally,  water  seemed  scarcer  in  the  country  than  the  beer 
and  cider  of  the  peasantry  who  toiled  or  idled  there. 

To  see  persons  looking  with  children's  eyes  at  any  ordi- 
nary scenery,  is  a  proof  that  they  possess  the  charming  fac- 
ulty of  drawing  new  sensations  from  an  old  experience — a 
healthy  sign,  rare  in  these  feverish  days — the  mark  of  an 
imperishable  brightness  of  nature. 

Both  brother  and  sister  could  do  this ;  Cytherea  more  no- 
ticeably. They  watched  the  undulating  corn-lands,  monot- 
onous to  all  their  companions ;  the  stony  and  clayey  pros- 
pect succeeding  those,  with  its  angular  and  abrupt  hills. 
Boggy  moors  came  next,  now  withered  and  dry — the  spots 
upon  which  pools  usually  spread  their  waters,  showing 
themseves  as  circles  of  smooth  bare  soil,  overrun  by  a  net- 
work of  innumerable  little  fissures.  Then  arose  plantations 
of  firs,  abruptly  terminating  beside  meadows  cleanly  mown, 
in  which  high-hipped,  rich-colored  cows,  with  backs  hori- 
zontal and  straight  as  the  ridge  of  a  house,  stood  motionless 
or  lazily  fed.     Glimpses  of  the  sea  now  interest  them,  wliich 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  17 

became  more  and  more  frequent  till  the  train  finally  drew 
up  beside  the  platform  at  Creston. 

"  The  whole  town  is  looking  out  for  us,"  had  been  Graye's 
impression  throughout  the  day.  He  called  upon  Mr.  Grad- 
field — the  only  man  who  had  been  directly  informed  of  his 
coming — and  found  that  Mr.  Gradfield  had  forgotten  it. 

However,  arrangements  were  made  with  this  gentleman — 
a  stout,  active,  gray-bearded  burgher  of  sixty,  by  which 
Owen  was  to  commence  work  in  his  office  the  following 
week. 

The  same  day  Cytherea  drew  up  and  sent  off  the  adver- 
tisement appended : — 

"  A  YOUNG  LADY  is  desirous  of  meeting  with  an  engage- 
ment as  GOVERNESS  Or  COMPANION.     She  is  competent  to 
teach  English,  French,  and  Music.     Satisfactory  references. 
"Address,  C.  G.,  Post  Office,  Creston." 

It  seemed  a  more  material  existence  than  her  own  that 
she  saw  thus  delineated  on  the  paper.  "That  can't  be  my- 
self; how  odd  I  look,"  she  said,  and  smiled. 


§  2.  July  the  eleventh. 

On  the  Monday  subsequent  to  their  arrival  in  Creston, 
Owen  Graye  attended  at  Mr.  Gradfield' s  office  to  enter  upon 
his  duties,  and  his  sister  was  left  in  their  lodgings  alone  for 
the  first  time. 

Despite  the  sad  occurrences  of  the  preceding  autumn,  an 
unwonted  cheerfulness  pervaded  her  spirit  throughout  the  day. 
Change  of  scene — and  that  to  untravelled  eyes — conjoined 
with  the  sensation  of  freedom  from  supervision,  revived  the 
hparkle  of  a  warm  young  nature  ready  enough  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  any  adventitious  restoratives.  Point-blank  grief 
tends  rather  to  seal  up  happiness  for  a  time  than  to  produce 
that  attrition  which  results  from  griefs  of  anticipation  that 
move  onward  with  the  days :  these  may  be  said  to  furrow 
away  the  capacity  for  pleasure. 

Her  expectations  from  the  advertisement  began  to  be  ex- 
travagant.    A  thriving  family,  who  had  always  sadly  needed 


1 8  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

her,  was  already  definitely  pictured  in  her  fancy,  which,  in 
its  exuberance,  led  her  on  to  picturing  its  individual  mem- 
bers, their  possible  peculiar;  tes,  virtues,  and  vices,  and  ob- 
literated for  a  time  the  recollection  that  she  would  be  sep- 
arated from  her  brother. 

Thus  musing,  as  she  waited  for  his  return  in  the  evening, 
her  eyes  fell  on  her  left  hand.  The  contemplation  of  her 
own  left  fourth  finger  by  symbol-loving  girlhood  of  this  age 
is,  it  seems,  very  frequently,  if  not  always,  followed  by  a 
peculiar  train  of  romantic  ideas.  Cytherea's  thoughts,  still 
playing  about  her  future,  became  directed  into  this  romantic 
groove.  She  leant  back  in  her  chair,  and  taking  hold  of  the 
fourth  finger,  which  had  attracted  her  attention,  she  lifted  it 
with  the  tips  of  the  others,  and  looked  at  the  smooth  and 
tapering  member  for  a  long  time. 

She  whispered  idly,  *'  I  wonder  who  and  what  He  will 
be? 

"  If  he's  a  gentleman  of  fashion,  he  will  take  my  finger  so, 
just  with  the  tips  of  his  ovn,  and  with  some  fluttering  of 
the  heart,  and  the  least  trembling  of  his  lip,  slip  the  ring  so 
lightly  on  that  I  shall  hardly  know  it  is  there — looking  de- 
lightfully into  my  eyes  all  the  time. 

"  If  he's  a  bold,  dashing  soldier,  I  expect  he  will  proudly 
turn  round,  take  the  ring  as  if  it  equalled  Her  Majesty's 
crown  in  value,  and  desperately  set  it  on  my  finger  thus. 
He  will  fix  his  eyes  unflinchingly  upon  what  he  is  doing — 
just  as  if  he  stood  in  battle  before  the  enemy  (though,  in  real- 
ity, very  fond  of  me,  of  course),  and  blush  as  much  as  I  shall. 

"  If  he's  a  sailor,  he  will  take  my  finger  and  the  ring  in 
this  way,  and  deck  it  out  with  a  housewifely  touch  and  a  ten- 
derness of  expression  about  his  mouth,  as  sailors  do  :  kiss 
it,  perhaps,  with  a  simple  air,  as  if  we  were  children  playing 
an  idle  game,  and  not  at  the  very  height  of  observation  and 
envy  by  a  great  crowd  saying  *  Ah  1  they  are  happy  now  ! ' 

"  If  he  should  be  rather  x  poor  man — noble-minded  and 
affectionate,  but  still  poor — ^" 

Owen's  footsteps  rapidly  f..scending  the  stairs,  interrupted 
this  fancy-free  meditation.  [Reproaching  herself,  even  angry 
with  herself  for  allowing  her  mind  to  stray  upon  such  sub- 
jects in  the  face  of  their  present  desperate  condition,  she 
rose  to  meet  him,  and  make  tea. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  1 9 

Cytherea's  interest  to  know  how  her  brother  had  been 
received  at  Mr.  Gradfield's  brote  forth  into  words  at  once. 
Ahnost  before  they  had  sat  down  to  table,  she  began  cross- 
examining  him  in  the  regular  sisterly  way. 

"Well,  Owen,  how  has  it  been  with  you  to-day?  What 
is  the  place  like — do  you  think  you  will  like  Mr.  Grad- 
field  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  But  he  has  not  been  there  to-day ;  I  have 
only  had  the  head  clerk  with  me." 

Young  women  have  a  habit,  not  noticeable  in  men,  of 
putting  on  at  a  moment's  notice  the  drama  of  whomsoever's 
life  they  choose.  Cytherea's  interest  was  transferred  from 
Mr.  Gradfield  to  his  representative. 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ?" 

"  He  seems  a  very  nice  fellow  indeed  ;  though  of  course 
I  can  hardly  tell  to  a  certainty  as  yet.  But  I  think  he's  a 
very  worthy  fellow  ;  there's  no  nonsense  in  him,  and  though 
he  is  not  a  public-school  man  he  has  read  widely,  and  has  a 
sharp  appreciation  of  what's  good  in  books  and  art.  In 
fact,  his  knowledge  isn't  nearly  so  exclusive  as  most  profes- 
sional men's." 

"  That's  a  great  deal  to  say  of  an  architect,  for  of  all 
professional  men  they  are,  as  a  rule,  the  most  professional." 

"Yes  ;  perhaps  they  are.  This  man  is  rather  of  a  melan- 
choly turn  of  mind,  I  think." 

"  Has  the  managing  clerk  any  family  ?  "  she  mildly  asked, 
after  a  while,  pouring  out  some  more  tea. 

"  Family ;  no  !  " 

"  Well,  dear  Owen,  how  should  I  know  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  he  isn't  married.  But  there  happened 
to  be  a  conversation  about  women  going  on  in  the  office, 
and  I  heard  him  say  what  he  should  wish  his  wife  to  be 
like." 

"  Wliat  would  he  wish  his  wife  to  be  like  ?  "  she  said,  with 
great  apjiarent  lack  of  interest. 

"  Oh,  he  says  she  must  be  girlish  and  artless  :  yet  he 
would  be  loth  to  do  without  a  dash  of  womanly  subtlety, 
'tis  so  piquant.  Yes,  he  said,  that  must  be  in  her  ;  she 
must  have  womanly  cleverness.  '  And  yet  I  should  hke  her 
to  blush  if  only  a  cock-sparrow  were  to  look  at  her  hard,'  he 
said,  *  which  brings  me  back  to  the  girl  again  :  and  so  I  flit 


20  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

backwards  and  forwards.  I  must  have  what  comes,  I  sup- 
pose,' he  said,  '  and  whatever  she  may  be,  thank  God  she's 
no  worse.  However,  if  he  might  give  a  final  hint  to  Provi- 
dence,' he  said,  'a  child  among  pleasures,  and  a  woman 
among  pains,  was  the  rough  outline  of  his  requirement.'  " 

"  Did  he  say  that  ?  What  a  musing  creature  he  must 
be." 

"  He  did,  indeed." 


§  3.  From  the  twelfth  to  the  fifteenth  of  July. 

As  is  well  known,  ideas  are  so  elastic  in  a  human  brain, 
that  they  have  no  constant  measure  which  may  be  called 
their  actual  bulk.  Any  important  idea  may  be  compressed 
to  a  molecule  by  an  unwonted  crowding  of  others  ;  and  any 
small  idea  will  expand  to  whatever  length  and  breadth  of 
vacuum  the  mind  may  be  able  to  make  over  to  it.  Cythe- 
rea's  world  was  tolerably  vacant  at  this  time,  and  the  head 
clerk  became  factitiously  pervasive.  The  very  next  evening 
this  subject  was  again  renewed. 

"  His  name  is  Springrove,"  said  Owen,  in  reply  to  her. 
"  He  is  a  man  of  very  humble  origin,  it  seems,  who  has  made 
himself  so  far.  I  think  he  is  the  son  of  a  farmer,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind." 

"  Well,  he's  none  the  worse  for  that,  I  suppose." 
"  None  the  worse.     As  we  come  down  the  hill,  we  shall 
be  continually  meeting  people  going  up."     But  Owen  had 
felt  that  Springrove  was  a  little  the  worse,  nevertheless. 
"  Of  course  he's  rather  old  by  this  time." 
"  Oh,  no.     He's  about  six-and-twenty — not  more." 

"  Ah,  I  see What  is  he  like,  Owen  ?  » 

"  I  can't  exactly  tell  you  his  appearance  :  'tis  always  such 
a  difficult  thing  to  do." 

"A  man  you  would  describe  as  short.  Most  men  are 
those  we  should  describe  as  short,  I  fancy." 

*'  1  should  call  him,  I  think,  of  the  middle  height ;  but  as 
I  only  see  him  sitting  in  the  office,  of  course  I  am  not  cer- 
tain about  his  form  and  figure." 
**  I  wish  you  were,  then." 
"  Perhaps  you  do.     But  I  am  not,  you  see." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  21 

"  Of  course  not,  you  are  always  so  provoking.  Owen,  J 
saw  a  man  in  the  street  to-day  whom  I  fancied  was  he — and 
yet,  I  don't  see  how  it  could  be,  either.  He  had  light-brown 
hair,  a  snub  nose,  very  round  face,  and  a  peculiar  habit  of 
reducing  his  eyes  to  straight  lines  when  he  looked  narrowly 
at  anything," 

"  Oh  no.     That  was  not  he,  Cytherea." 

"  Not  a  bit  like  him,  in  all  probabiHty." 

"  Not  a  bit.  He  has  dark  hair — almost  a  Grecian  nose, 
regular  teeth,  and  an  intellectual  face,  as  nearly  as  I  can 
recall  to  mind." 

"  Ah,  there  now,  Owen,  you  have  described  him.  But  I 
suppose  he's  not  generally  called  pleasing,  or — " 

"  Handsome  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  meant  that.  But  since  you  have  said  it,  is  he 
handsome  ?  " 

"  Rather." 

"  His  tout  ensemble  is  striking  ?  " 

"  Yes — Oh  no,  no — I  forgot :  it  is  not.  He  is  rather 
untidy  in  his  waistcoat,  and  neck-ties,  and  hair." 

"  How  vexing  !  ....  it  must  be  to  himself,  poor  thing." 

"  He's  a  thorough  bookworm — despises  the  pap-and-daisy 
school  of  verse — knows  Shakespeare  to  the  very  dregs  of 
the  foot-notes.     Indeed  he's  a  poet  himself  in  a  small  way." 

"How  delicious!"  she  said;  "1  have  never  known  a 
poet." 

**  And  you  don't  know  him,"  said  Owen,  dryly. 

She  reddened.     "  Of  course  I  don't.     I  know  that." 

*'  Have  you  received  any  answer  to  your  advertisement?" 
he  inquired. 

*'  Ah — no  !  "  she  said,  and  the  forgotten  disappointment 
which  had  shown  itself  in  her  face  at  different  times  during 
the  day,  became  visible  again. 

Another  day  passed  away.  On  Thursday,  without  inquiry, 
she  learnt  more  of  the  head  clerk.  He  and  Graye  had 
become  very  friendly,  and  he  had  been  tempted  to  show  her 
brother  a  copy  of  some  poems  of  his — some  serious  and  sad 
■ — some  humorous — which  had  ajjpeared  in  the  poets'  cor- 
ner of  a  magazine  from  time  to  time.  Owen  showed  them 
now  to  Cytherea,  who  instantly  began  to  read  them  carefully 
and  to  think  them  very  beautiful. 


22  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  Yes — Springrove's  no  fool,"  said  Owen  didaclically. ' 

"  No  fool ! — I  should  think  he  isn't,  indeed,"  said  Cythe- 
rea,  looking  up  from  the  paper  in  quite  an  excitement : 
"  to  write  such  verses  as  these  ! " 

"What  logic  are  you  chopping,  Cytherea.  Well,  I  don't 
mean  on  account  of  the  verses,  because  I  haven't  read 
them ;  but  for  what  he  said  when  the  fellows  were  talking 
about  falling  in  love." 

"  Which  you  will  tell  me  ?  " 

"  He  says  that  your  true  lover  breathlessly  finds  himself 
engaged  to  a  sweetheart,  like  a  man  who  has  caught  some- 
thing in  the  dark.  He  doesn't  know  whether  it  is  a  bat  or  a 
bird,  takes  it  to  the  light  when  he  is  cool  to  learn  what  it  is. 
He  looks  to  see  if  she  is  the  right  age,  but  right  age  or  wrong 
age,  he  must  consider  her  a  prize.  Some  time  later  he  pon- 
ders whether  she  is  the  right  kind  of  prize  for  him.  Right 
kind  or  wrong  kind — he  has  called  her  his,  and  must  abide 
by  it.  After  a  time  he  asks  himself,  '  Has  she  the  temper, 
hair,  and  eyes  I  meant  to  have,  and  was  firmly  resolved  not 
to  do  without  ?  '  He  finds  it  all  wrong,  and  then  comes  the 
tussle — " 

"  Do  they  marry  and  live  happily  ?  " 

"Who?  Oh,  the  supposed  pair.  I  think  he  said — well, 
I  really  forget  what  he  said." 

"  That  is  stupid  of  you  ! "  said  the  young  lady  with  dis- 
may. 

"Yes." 

"  But  he's  a  satirist — I  don't  think  I  care  about  him  now." 

"There  you  are  just  wrong.  He  is  not.  He  is,  as  I 
believe,  an  impulsive  fellow  who  has  been  made  to  pay  the 
penalty  of  his  rashness  in  some  love  affair." 

Thus  ended  the  dialogue  of  Thursday,  but  Cytherea  read 
the  verses  again  in  private.  On  P>iday  her  brother  re- 
marked that  Springrove  had  informed  him  he  was  going  to 
leave  Mr.  Gradfield's  in  a  fortnight  to  push  his  fortunes  in 
London. 

An  indescribable  feeling  of  sadness  shot  through  Cythe- 
rea's  heart.  Why  should  she  be  sad  at  such  an  announce- 
ment as  that,  she  thought,  concerning  a  man  she  had  never 
seen,  when  her  spirits  were  elastic  enough  to  rebound  after 
hard  blows  from  deep  and  real  troubles  as  if  she  had  scarcely 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


23 


known  them  ?     Though  she  could  not  answer  this  question 
she  knew  one  thing,  she  was  saddened  by  Owen's  news. 

Ideal  conception,  necessitated  by  ignorance  of  the  person 
so  imagined,  often  results  in  f.n  incipient  love,  which  other- 
wise would  never  have  existed. 


§  4.  July  the  twenty-first. 

A  very  homely  and  rustic  excursion  by  steamboat  to  Lew- 
borne  Bay,  forms  the  framework  of  the  next  accident  in  the 
chain.  The  trip  was  announced  through  the  streets  on 
Thursday  morning  by  the  weaked-voiced  town  crier,  to  be  at 
six  o'clock  the  same  evening.  The  weather  was  lovely,  and 
the  opportunity  being  the  first  of  the  kind  offered  to  them, 
Owen  and  Cytherea  went  with  the  rest. 

They  had  reached  the  bay,  and  had  lingered  together  for 
nearly  an  hour  on  the  shore  and  up  the  hill  which  rose  beside 
the  cove,  when  Graye  recollected  that  a  mile  or  two  inland 
from  this  spot  was  an  interesting  mediaeval  ruin.  He  was 
already  familiar  with  its  characteristics  through  the  medium 
of  an  archaeological  work,  and  now  finding  himself  so  close 
to  the  reality,  felt  inclined  to  verify  some  theory  he  had 
formed  respecting  it.  Concluding  that  there  would  be  just 
sufficient  time  for  him  to  go  there  and  return  before  the 
boat  had  left  the  cove,  he  parted  from  Cytherea  on  the  hill, 
struck  downwards,  and  then  up  a  heathery  valley. 

She  remained  where  he  had  left  her  till  the  time  of  his 
expected  return,  scanning  the  details  of  the  prospect  around. 
Placidly  spread  out  before  her  on  the  south  was  the  open 
Channel,  reflecting  a  blue  intenser  by  many  shades  than  that 
of  the  sky  overhead,  and  dotted  in  the  foreground  by  half-a- 
dozen  small  craft  of  contrasting  rig,  their  sails  graduating  in 
hue  from  extreme  whiteness  to  reddish  brown,  the  varying 
actual  colors  varied  again  in  a  double  degree  by  the  rays 
of  the  declining  sun. 

Presently  the  first  bell  from  the  boat  was  heard,  warning 
the  passengers  to  embark.  This  was  followed  by  a  lively 
air  from  the  harps  and  violins  on  board,  their  tones,  as  they 
arose,  becoming  intermingled  with,  though  not  marred  by, 
thi  brush  of  the  waves  when  their  crests  rolled  over — at  the 


24  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

point  where  the  check  of  the  shore  shallows  was  first  felt 
— and  then  thinned  away  up  the  slope  of  pebbles  and 
sand. 

She  turned  her  face  landward,  and  strained  her  eyes  to 
discern,  if  possible,  some  sign  of  Owen's  return.  Nothing  was 
visible  save  the  strikingly  brilliant,  still  landscape.  The  wide 
concave  which  lay  at  the  back  of  the  cliff  in  this  direction 
was  blazing  with  the  western  light,  adding  an  orange  tint  to 
the  vivid  purple  of  the  heather,  now  at  the  very  climax  of 
bloom,  and  free  from  the  slightest  touch  of  the  invidious 
brown  that  so  soon  creeps  into  its  shades.  The  light  so  in- 
tensified the  color  that  they  seemed  to  stand  above  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth  and  float  in  mid-air  like  an  exhalation  of 
r&d;-  In  the  minor  valleys,  between  the  hillocks  and  ridges 
which  diversified  the  contour  of  the  basin,  but  did  not  disturb 
its  general  sweep,  she  marked  brakes  of  tall,  heavy-stemmed 
ferns,  five  or  six  feet  high,  in  a  brilliant  light-green  dress — 
a  broad  riband  of  them  with  the  path  in  their  midst  wind- 
ing like  a  stream  along  the  little  ravine  that  reached  to  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  and  delivered  up  the  path  to  its  grassy  area. 
Among  the  ferns  grew  holly  bushes  deeper  in  tint  than  any 
shadow  about  them,  whilst  the  whole  surface  of  the  scene 
was  dimpled  with  small  conical  pits,  and  here  and  there 
were  round  ponds,  now  dry,  and  half  overgrown  with  rushes. 

The  last  bell  of  the  steamer  rang.  Cytherea  had  forgot- 
ten herself,  and  what  she  was  looking  for.  In  a  fever  of 
distress  lest  Owen  should  be  left  behind,  she  gathered  up  in 
her  hand  the  corners  of  her  handkerchief,  containing  speci- 
mens of  the  shells,  seaweed,  and  fossils  with  which  the 
locahty  abounded,  descended  to  the  beach,  and  mingled 
with  the  knots  of  visitors  there  congregated  from  other  in- 
teresting points  around,  from  the  inn,  the  cottages,  and  hired 
conveyances  that  had  returned  from  short  drives  inland. 
They  all  went  aboard  by  the  primitive  plan  of  a  narrow 
plank  on  two  wheels — the  women  being  assisted  by  a  rope. 
Cytherea  lingered  till  the  very  last,  reluctant  to  follow,  and 
looking  alternately  at  the  boat  and  the  valley  behind.  Her 
delay  provoked  a  remark  from  Captain  Jacobs,  a  thickset 
man  of  hybrid  stains,  resulting  from  the  mixed  effects  of  fire 
and  water,  peculiar  to  sailors  where  engines  are  the  propelling 
power. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES,  2$ 

**  Now  then,  missie,  if  you  please.  I  am  sorry  to  tell  'e«! 
our  time's  up.     Who  are  you  looking  for,  miss  ?  " 

"  My  brother — he  has  walked  a  short  distance  inland  j  he 
must  be  here  directly.  Could  you  wait  for  him — ^just  a 
minute  ?  " 

"  Really,  I'm  afraid  not,  m'm."  Cytherea  looked  at  the 
stout,  round-faced  man,  and  at  the  vessel,  with  a  light  in  hei 
eyes  so  expressive  of  her  own  opinion  being  the  same  on 
reflection,  and  with  such  resignation,  too,  that,  from  an 
instinctive  feeling  of  pride  at  being  able  to  prove  himself 
more  humane  that  he  was  thought  to  be — works  of  super- 
erogation are  the  only  sacrifices  that  entice  in  this  way — >and 
that  at  a  very  small  cost,  he  delayed  the  boat  till  some 
elderly  unmarried  girls  among  the  passengers  began  to 
murmur. 

"  There,  never  mind,"  said  Cytherea,  decisively.  "  Go 
on  without  me — I  shall  wait  for  him." 

"  Well,  'tis  a  very  awkward  thing  to  leave  you  here  all 
alone,"  said  the  captain.  ' '  I  certainly  advise  you  not  to 
wait." 

"  He's  gone  across  to  the  railway  station,  for  certain," 
said  another  passenger. 

"  No — here  he  is  !  "  Cytherea  said,  regarding,  as  she  spoke, 
the  half-hidden  figure  of  a  man  who  was  seen  advancing  at  a 
headlong  pace  down  the  ravine  which  lay  between  the  heath 
and  the  shore. 

"  He  can't  get  here  in  less  than  five  minutes,"  the 
passenger  said.  "People  should  know  what  they  are  about, 
and  keep  time.     Really,  if — " 

"  You  see,  sir,"  said  the  captain,  in  an  apologetic  under- 
tone, "since  'tis  her  brother,  and  she's  all  alone,  'tis  only 
nater  to  wait  a  minute  now  he's  in  sight.  Suppose  now  you 
were  a  young  woman,  as  might  be,  and  had  a  brother,  like 
this  one,  and  you  stood  of  an  evening  upon  this  here  wild, 
lonely  shore,  like  her,  why  you'd  want  us  to  wait,  too, 
wouldn't  you,  sir?     I  think  you  would." 

The  person  so  hastily  approaching  had  been  lost  to  view 
during  this  remark  by  reason  of  a  hollow  in  the  ground,  and 
the  projecting  cliff  immediately  at  hand  covered  the  path  in 
its  rise.  His  footsteps  were  now  heard  striking  sharply  upon 
the  stony  road  at  a  distance  of  about  twenty  or  thirty  yards, 


26  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

but  still  behind  the  escarpment.  To  save  time,  Cytherea 
prepared  to  ascend  the  plank. 

"  Let  me  give  you  my  hand,  miss,"  said  Captain  Jacobs. 

"  No — please  don't  touch  me,"  said  she,  ascending  cau- 
tiously by  sliding  one  foot  forward  two  or  three  inches, 
bringing  up  the  other  behind  it,  and  so  on  alternately — her 
lips  compressed  by  concentration  on  the  feat,  her  eyes  glued 
to  the  plank,  her  hand  to  the  rope,  and  her  immediate 
thought  to  the  fact  of  the  distressing  narrowness  of  her  foot- 
ing. Footsteps  now  shook  the  lower  end  of  the  board,  and 
in  another  instant  were  up  to  her  heels  with  a  bound. 

"  O  Owen,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come  !  "  she  said,  without 
turning.     "  Don't  shake  the  plank  or  touch  me,  whatever  you 

do There,   I  am  up.     Where   have   you   been    so 

long?"  she  continued,  in  a  lower  tone,  turning  round  to  him 
as  she  reached  the  top. 

Raising  her  eyes  from  her  feet,  which,  standing  on  the  firm 
deck,  demanded  her  attention  no  longer,  she  acquired  per- 
ceptions of  the  new-comer  in  the  following  order  : — unknown 
trousers  ;  unknown  waistcoat ;  unknown  face.  The  man  was 
not  her  brother,  but  a  total  stranger. 

Off  went  the  plank  ;  the  paddles  started,  stopped  in  con- 
fusion, then  revolved  decisively,  and  the  boat  passed  out  into 
deep  water. 

One  or  two  persons  had  said,  "  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Sprin- 
grove  ? "  and  looked  at  Cytherea,  to  see  how  she  bore  her 
disappointment.  Her  ears  had  but  just  caught  the  name  of 
the  head  clerk,  when  she  saw  him  advancing  directly  to  ad- 
dress her. 

"  Miss  Graye,  I  believe  ?  "  he  said,  lifting  his  hat. 

"Yes,"  said  Cytherea,  coloring,  and  trying  not  to  look 
guilty  of  a  surreptitious  knowledge  of  him. 

"  I  am  Mr.  Springrove.  1  passed  Humdon  Castle  about 
half  an  hour  ago,  and  soon  afterwards  met  your  brother  going 
that  way.  He  had  been  deceived  in  the  distance,  and  was 
about  to  turn  without  seeing  the  ruin,  on  account  of  a  lame- 
ness that  had  come  on  in  his  leg  or  foot.  I  proposed  that 
he  should  go  on,  since  he  had  got  so  near  ;  and  afterwards, 
instead  of  walking  back  to  the  boat,  get  across  to  Galworth 
Station — a  shorter  walk  for  him — where  he  could  catch  the 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


27 


late  train,  and  go  directly  home.     I  could  let  you  know  what 
he  had  done,  and  allay  any  uneasiness." 

"  Is  the  lameness  serious,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"Oh,  no;  simply  from  over-walking  himself.  Still,  it  was 
just  as  well  to  ride  home." 

Relieved  from  her  apprehensions  on  Owen's  score,  she 
«vas  able  slightly  to  examine  the  appearance  of  her  informant 
— Edward  Springrove — who  now  removed  his  hat  for  a  while, 
to  cool  himself.  He  was  rather  above  her  brother's  height. 
Although  the  upper  part  of  his  face  and  head  was  handsomely 
formed  and  bounded  by  lines  of  sufficiently  masculine  regu- 
larity, his  brows  were  somewhat  too  softly  arched,  and  finely 
pencilled  for  one  of  his  sex  ;  without  prejudice,  however,  to 
the  belief  which  the  sum  total  of  its  features  inspired — that 
though  they  did  not  prove  that  the  man  who  thought  inside 
them  would  do  much  for  the  world,  men  who  had  done  most 
of  all  had  had  no  better  ones.  Across  his  forehead,  other- 
wise perfectly  smooth,  ran  one  thin  line,  the  healthy  freshness 
of  his  remaining  features  expressing  that  it  had  come  there 
l)rematurely. 

Though  some  years  short  of  the  age  at  which  the  clear 
spirit  bids  good-by  to  the  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind,  and 
takes  to  house-hunting  and  consols,  he  had  reached  the  period 
in  a  young  man's  life  when  episodic  pasts,  with  a  hopeful 
birth  and  a  disappointing  death,  have  begun  to  accumulate, 
and  to  bear  a  fruit  of  generalities  ;  his  glance  sometimes  seem- 
ing to  state,  "  1  have  alreadj'  thought  out  the  issue  of  such 
conditions  as  these  we  are  experiencing."  At  other  times  he 
wore  an  abstracted  look  :  "  I  seem  to  have  lived  through 
this  moment  before." 

He  was  carelessly  dressed  in  dark  gray,  wearing  a  narrow 
bit  of  black  ribbon  as  a  neck-tie,  the  bow  of  which  was  dis- 
arranged, and  stood  obliquely — a  deposit  of  white  dust  hav- 
ing lodged  in  the  creases. 

"  1  am  sorry  for  your  disappointment,"  he  continued,  keep- 
ing at  her  side.  As  he  spoke  the  words,  he  glanced  into  her 
face — then  fixed  his  eyes  firmly,  though  but  for  a  moment, 
on  hers,  which,  at  the  same  instant,  were  regarding  him. 
Their  eyes  having  met,  became,  as  it  were,  mutually  locked 
together,  and  the  single  instant  only  which  good  breeding 
allows  as  the  length  of  such  a  glance,  became  trebled  :  a  cleai 


28  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

penetrating  ray  of  intelligence  had  shot  from  each  into  each, 
giving  birth  to  one  of  those  unaccountable  sensations  which 
carry  home  to  the  heart  before  the  hand  has  been  touched  or 
the  merest  compliment  passed,  by  something  stronger  than 
mathematical  proof,  the  conviction,  "A  tie  has  begun  to 
unite  us." 

Both  fices  also  unconsciously  stated  that  their  owners  had 
been  much  in  each  other's  thoughts  of  late.  Owen  had 
talked  to  the  head  clerk  of  his  sister  as  freely  as  to  Cytherea 
of  the  head  clerk. 

A  conversation  began,  which  was  none  the  less  interesting 
lo  the  parties  engaged  because  it  consisted  only  of  the  most 
trivial  and  commonplace  remarks.  Then  the  band  of  har[)s 
and  violins  struck  up  a  lively,  melody,  and  the  deck  was 
cleared  for  dancing  ;  the  sun  dipping  beneath  the  horizon  dur- 
ing the  proceeding,  and  the  moon  showing  herself  at  their 
stern.  The  sea  was  so  calm,  that  the  soft  hiss  produced  by 
the  bursting  of  the  innumerable  bubbles  of  foam  behind  the 
paddles  could  be  distinctly  heard.  The  passengers  who  did 
not  dance,  including  Cytherea  and  Springrove,  lapsed  into 
silence,  leaning  against  the  paddle-boxes,  or  standing  aloof 
— noticing  the  trembling  of  the  deck  to  the  steps  of  the  dance 
— watching  the  waves  from  the  paddles  as  they  slid  thinly 
and  easily  under  each  other's  bosom. 

Night  had  quite  closed  in  by  the  time  they  reached  Creston 
harbor,  sparkUng  with  its  white,  red,  and  green  lights  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  shimmering  path  of  the  moon's  retiection  on  the 
other  side,  which  reached  away  to  the  horizon  till  the  tlecked 
ripples  reduced  themselves  to  sparkles  as  fine  to  the  eye  as 
gold  dust. 

"  1  will  walk  to  the  station  and  find  out  the  exact  lime  the 
train  arrives,"  said  Springrove,  rather  eagerly,  when  they  had 
landed. 

She  thanked  him  much. 

"  Perhaps  we  might  walk  together,"  he  suggested,  hesita- 
tingly. She  looked  as  if  she  did  not  quite  know,  and  he  set- 
tied  the  question  by  showing  the  way. 

They  found,  on  arriving  there,  that  on  the  first  day  of  that 
month  the  particular  train  selected  for  Graye's  return  had 
ceased  to  stop  at  Galworth  station. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  I  misled  him,"  said  Springrove. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 


29 


"  Oh,  I  am  not  alarmed  at  all,"  replied  Cytherea. 

"  Well,  it's  sure  to  be  all  right — he  will  sleep  there,  and 
come  by  the  first  in  the  morning.  But  what  will  you  do, 
alone  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  easy  on  that  point  ;  the  landlady  is  very 
friendly.  I  must  go  in-doors  now.  Good-night,  Mr.  Sprinp^ 
rove.*' 

"  Let  me  go  round  to  your  door  with  yon  ?  "  he  pleaded. 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  we  live  close  by." 

He  looked  at  her  as  a  waiter  looks  at  the  change  he 
brings  back.     But  she  was  inexorable. 

"  Don't — forget  me,"  he  murmured.  She  did  not  an- 
swer. 

"  Let  me  see  you  sometimes,"  he  said. 

"  Perhaps  you  never  will  again — I  am  going  away,"  she 
replied,  in  lingering  tones ;  and  turning  into  Cross  Street, 
ran  indoors  and  upstairs. 

The  sudden  withdrawal  of  what  was  superfluous  when 
first  given,  is  often  felt  as  an  essential  loss.  It  was  felt  now 
with  regard  to  the  maiden.  More,  too,  after  a  first  meeting, 
so  pleasant  and  so  enkindling,  she  had  seemed  to  imply  that 
they  would  never  come  together  again.  The  young  man 
softly  followed  her,  stood  opposite  the  house  and  watched 
her  come  into  the  upper  room  with  the  light.  Presently  his 
gaze  was  cut  short  by  her  approaching  the  window  and  pull- 
ing down  the  blind — Edward  dwelling  upon  her  vanishing 
figure  with  a  hopeless  sense  of  loss  akin  to  that  which  Adam 
is  said  by  logicians  to  have  felt  when  he  first  saw  the  sun 
set,  and  thought,  in  his  inexperience,  that  it  would  return  no 
more. 

He  waited  till  her  shadow  had  twice  crossed  the  window, 
when,  finding  the  charming  outline  was  not  to  be  expected 
again,  he  left  the  street,  crossed  the  harbor-bridge,  and  en- 
tered his  own  solitary  chamber  on  the  other  side,  vaguely 
thinking  as  he  went  (for  unnamed  reasons), 

"  One  hope  is  too  like  despair 
For  prudence  to  smother." 


CHAPTER  TIL 

THE  EVENTS  OF  EIGHT  DAYS. 

§  I.  From   the  iwenty-seco?id  to   the  twenty-seventh   of 
July. 

BUT  things  are  not  what  the}'  seem.  A  responsive  love 
for  Edward  Springrove  had  made  its  a];)pearance  in 
Cytherea's  bosom  with  all  the  fascinating  attributes  of  a  lirst 
experience — not  succeeding  to  or  displacing  other  emotions, 
as  in  older  hearts,  but  taking  up  entirely  new  ground  ;  as 
when  gazing  just  after  sunset  at  the  pale-blue  sky  we  see  a 
star  come  into  existence  where  nothing  was  before. 

His  parting  words,  "Don't  forget  me,"  she  repeated  to 
herself  a  hundred  times,  and  though  she  thought  their  import 
was  probably  commonplace,  she  could  not  iiel])  toying  with 
them, — looking  at  thein  from  all  })oints,  and  hivesting  them' 
with  meanings  of  love  and  faithfulness, — ostensibly  enter- 
taining such  meanings  only  as  fables  wherewith  to  pass  the 
time,  yet  in  her  heart  admitting,  for  detached  instants,  a  pos- 
sibility of  their  deeper  truth.  And  thus,  for  hours  after  he 
had  left  her,  her  reason  flirted  with  her  fancy  as  a  kitten  will 
sport  with  a  dove,  pleasantly  and  smoothly  through  easy  at- 
titudes, but  disclosing  its  cruel  and  unyielding  nature  at 
crises. 

To  turn  now  to  the  more  material  media  through  which 
this  story  moves,  it  so  happened  that  the  very  next  morning 
brought  round  a  circumstance  which,  slight  in  itself,  took  up 
a  relevant  and  important  position  between  the  past  and  the 
future  of  the  i)ersons  herein  concerned. 

At  breakfast  time,  just  as  Cytherea  had  again  seen  the 
postman  pass  without  bringing  her  an  answer  to  the  adver- 
tisement, as  she  had  fully  expected  he  would,  0\ven  entered 
the  roojn. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  kissing  her,  "  you  have  not  been  alarmed, 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  3 1 

of  course.  Springrove  told  you  what  I  had  done,  and  you 
found  there  was  no  train  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  all  clear.  But  what  is  the  lameness  owing 
to?" 

"I  don't  know — nothing.  It  has  quite  gone  off  now  .  . 
.  .  Cytherea,  1  hope  you  like  Springrove.  Springrove's  a 
nice  fellow,  you  know." 

"  Yes.     I  think  he  is,  except  that — " 

"  It  happened  just  to  the  purpose  that  I  should  meet  him 
there,  didn't  it?  And  when  I  reached  the  station  and 
learnt  that  I  could  not  get  on  by  train  my  foot  seemed  bet- 
ter. I  started  off  to  walk  home,  and  went  about  five  miles 
along  a  path  beside  the  railway.  It  then  struck  me  that  I 
might  not  be  fit  for  anything  to-day  if  I  walked  and  aggra- 
vated the  bothering  foot,  so  I  looked  for  a  place  to  sleep  at. 
There  was  no  available  village  or  inn,  and  I  eventually  got 
the  keeper  of  a  gate-house,  where  a  lane  crossed  the  line,  to 
take  me  in." 

They  proceeded  with  their  breakfast.     Owen  yawned. 

"  You  didn't  get  much  sleep  at  the  gate-house  last  night, 
I'm  afraid,  Owen,"  said  his  sister. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  I  didn't.  I  was  in  such  very  close 
and  narrow  quarters.  Those  gate-houses  are  such  small 
places,  and  the  man  had  only  his  own  bed  to  offer  me.  Ah, 
by  the  bye,  Cythie,  I  have  such  an  extraordinary  thing  to 
tell  you  in  connection  with  this  man  !— by  Jove,  I  had 
nearly  forgotten  it !  But  I'll  go  straight  on.  As  I  was  say- 
ing, he  had  only  his  own  bed  to  offer  me,  but  I  could  not 
afford  to  be  fastidious,  and  as  he  had  a  hearty  manner, 
though  a  very  queer  one,  I  agreed  to  accept  it,  and  he 
made  a  rough  pallet  for  himself  on  the  floor  close  beside 
me.  Well,  I  could  not  sleep  for  my  life,  and  I  wished  I  had 
not  stayed  there,  though  I  was  so  tired.  For  one  thing, 
there  were  the  luggage  trains  rattling  by  at  my  elbow  the 
early  part  of  the  night.  But  worse  than  this,  he  talked  con- 
tinually in  his  sleep,  and  occasionally  struck  out  with  his 
limbs  at  something  or  another,  knocking  against  the  post  of 
the  bedstead  and  making  it  tremble.  My  condition  was 
altogether  so  unsatisfactory  that  at  last  I  awoke  him,  and 
asked  him  what  he  had  been  dreaming  about  for  the  previ- 
ous hour,  for  I  could  get  no  sleep  at  all.     He  begged  my 


32 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


pardon  for  disturbing  me,  but  a  name  I  had  casually  let  fall 
that  evening  had  led  him  to  think  of  another  stranger  he 
had  once  had  visit  him,  who  had  also  accidentally  mentioned 
the  same  name,  and  some  very  strange  incidents  connected 
vvith  that  meeting.  The  affair  had  occurred  years  and  years 
ago  ;  but  what  I  had  said  had  made  him  think  and  dream 
about  it  as  if  it  were  but  yesterdey.  What  was  the  word  ? 
I  said.  '  Cytherea,'  he  said.  What  was  the  story  ?  I  asked 
then.  He  then  told  me  that  when  he  was  a  young  man  in 
London  he  borrowed  a  few  pounds  to  add  to  a  few  he  had 
saved  up,  and  opened  a  little  inn  at  Hamniersmith.  One 
evening,  after  the  inn  had  been  open  about  a  couple  of 
months,  every  idler  in  the  neighborhood  ran  off  to  West- 
minster.    The  Houses  of  Parliament  were  on  fire. 

"  Not  a  soul  remained  in  his  parlor  besides  himself,  and 
he  began  picking  up  the  pipes  and  glasses  his  customers  had 
hastily  relinquished.  At  length  a  young  lady  about  seven- 
teen or  eighteen  came  in.  She  asked  if  a  woman  was  there 
waiting  for  herself — Miss  Jane  Taylor.  He  said  no  ;  asked 
the  young  woman  if  she  would  wait,  and  showed  her  into 
the  small  inner  room.  There  was  a  glass  pane  in  the  parti- 
tion dividing  this  room  from  the  bar  to  enable  the  landlord 
to  see  if  his  visitors,  who  sat  there,  wanted  anything.  A 
curious  awkwardness  and  melancholy  about  the  behavior  of 
the  girl  who  called,  caused  my  informant  to  look  frequently 
at  her  .through  the  partition.  She  seemed  weary  of  her  life, 
and  sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  evidently  quite 
out  of  her  element  in  such  a  house.  Then  a  woman  much 
older  came  in  and  greeted  Miss  Taylor  by  name.  The  man 
distinctly  heard  the  following  words  pass  between  them. 

"  '  Why  have  you  not  brought  him  ?' 

"  *  He  is  ill ;  he  is  not  likely  to  live  through  the  night.' 

"  At  this  announcement  from  the  elderly  woman,  the 
younger  one  fell  to  the  floor  in  a  swoon,  apparently  over- 
come by  the  news.  The  landlord  ran  in  and  lifted  her  up. 
Well,  do  what  they  would  they  could  not  for  a  long  time 
bring  her  back  to  consciousness,  and  began  to  be  much 
alarmed.  '  Who  is  she  ?  '  the  innkeeper  said  to  the  other 
woman.  '  I  know  her,'  the  other  said  with  deep  meaning 
in  her  tone.  The  elderly  and  young  woman  seemed  allied, 
and  yet  strangers. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


33 


"  She  now  showed  signs  of  life,  and  it  struck  him  (he  was 
plainly  of  an  inquisitive  turn)  that  in  her  half-bewildered 
state  he  might  get  some  information  from  her.  He  stooped 
over  her,  put  his  mouth  to  her  ear,  and  said  sharply.  '  What's 
your  name  ? '  '  Catch  a  woman  napping  if  you  can,  even 
when  she's  asleep  or  half  dead,'  says  the  gatekeeper.  When 
he  asked  her  her  name,  she  said  immediately — 

"  '  Cytherea ' — and  stopped  suddenly." 

"  My  own  name  !  "  said  Cytherea. 

"Yes — your  name.  Well,  the  gateman  thought  at  the 
time  it  might  be  equally  with  Jane  a  name  she  had  invented 
for  the  occasion,  that  they  nn'ght  not  trace  her ;  but  I  think 
it  was  truth  unconsciously  uttered,  for  she  added  directly 
afterwards.  '  O  what  have  I  said  ! '  and  was  quite  over- 
come again — this  time  with  fright.  Her  vexation  that  the 
woman  now  doubted  the  genuineness  of  her  other  name, 
was  verj'  much  greater  than  that  the  innkeeper  did,  and  it  is 
evident  that  to  blind  the  woman  was  her  main  object.  He 
also  learnt,  from  words  this  other  woman  casually  let 
drop,  that  meetings  of  the  same  kind  had  been  held  before, 
and  that  the  falseness  of  the  soi-disant  Miss  Jane  Taytor's 
name  had  never  been  suspected  by  this  companion  or  con- 
federate till  then. 

"  She  recovered,  rested  there  for  an  hour,  and  first  sending 
off  her  companion  peremptorily  (which  was  another  odd 
thing),  she  left  the  house,  offering  the  landlord  all  the  money 
she  had  to  say  nothing  about  the  circumstance.  He  has 
never  seen  her  since,  according  to  his  own  account.  I  said 
to  him  again  and  again,  'Did  you  find  out  any  more  particu- 
lars afterwards?  '  *  Not  a  syllable,'  he  said.  O  he  should 
never  hear  any  more  of  that — too  many  years  had  passed 
since  it  happened.  'At  any  rate,  you  found  out  her  sur- 
name ?  *  I  said.  *  Well,  well,  that's  my  secret,'  he  went  on. 
'  Perhaps  I  should  never  have  been  in  this  part  of  the  world 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  that.  I  failed  as  a  publican,  you  know.' 
I  imagine  the  situation  of  gateman  was  given  him  and  his 
debts  paid  off  as  a  bribe  to  silence  ;  but  I  can't  say.  'Ah, 
yes,'  ha  said,  with  a  long  breath.  '  I  have  never  heard  that 
name  mentioned  since  that  time  till  to-night,  and  then  there 
instantly  rose  to  my  eyes  the  vision  of  that  youn^  lady  lying 
in  a  fainting  fit.'     He  then  stopped  talking  and  fell  asleep 

a* 


34 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


Telling  the  story  must  have  relieved  him  as  it  did  the  An- 
cient Manner,  for  he  did  not  move  a  muscle  or  make  another 
sound  for  the  remainder  of  the  night.  Now,  isn't  that  an 
odd  story  ! " 

"It  is,  indeed,"  Cytherea  murraered.  "Very,  very 
strange." 

"  VVhy  should  she  have  said  your  most  uncommon  name  ?  " 
continued  Owen.  "The  man  was  evidently  truthful,  for 
there  was  not  motive  sufficient  for  his  invention  of  such  a 
tale,  and  he  could  not  have  done  it  either." 

Cytherea  looked  long  at  her  brother.  "Don't  you  recog- 
nize anything  else  in  connection  with  the  story  ?  "  she  said. 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Do  you  remember  what  poor  papa  once  let  drop — that 
Cytherea  was  the  name  of  his  first  sweetheart  in  Bloomsbury, 
who  so  mysteriously  renounced  him  ?  A  sort  of  intuition 
tells  me  this  was  the  same  woman." 

"  O  no — not  likely,"  said  her  brother  sceptically. 

"  How  not  likely,  Owen  ?  There's  not  another  woman 
of  the  name  in  England.  In  what  year  used  papa  to  say 
the  event  took  place?" 

"  Eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-five." 

"  And  when  were  the  Houses  of  Parliament  burnt  ? — stop, 
I  can  tell  you."  She  searched  their  little  stock  of  books 
for  a  list  of  dates,  and  found  one  in  an  old  school  history. 

"  The  Houses  of  Parliament  were  burnt  down  in  the  eve- 
ning of  the  sixteenth  of  October,  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirty-four," 

"  Nearly  a  year  and  a  quarter  before  she  met  father,"  re- 
marked Owen. 

They  were  silent.  "  If  papa  had  been  alive,  what  a  wonder- 
fully absorbing  interest  this  story  would  have  had  for  him," 
said  Cytherea,  by  and  by.  "  And  how  strangely  knowledge 
comes  to  us.  We  might  have  searched  for  a  clue  to  her 
secret  half  the  world  over,  and  never  found  one.  If  we  had 
really  had  any  motive  for  trying  to  discover  niore  of  the  sad 
history  than  papa  told  us,  we  should  have  gone  to  Blooms- 
bury  ;  but  not  caring  to  do  so,  we  go  two  hundred  miles  in 
the  opposite  direction,  and  there  find  information  waiting  to 
be  told  us.     What  could  have  been  the  secret,  Owen  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows.     But  our  having  heard  a  httle  more  of 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


35 


her  in  this  way  (if  she  is  the  same  woman)  is  a  mere  coinci- 
dence after  all — a  family  story  to  tell  our  friends  if  we  ever 
have  any.  But  we  shall  never  know  any  more  of  the  epi- 
sode now — trust  our  fates  to  that." 

Cytherea  sat  silently  thinking. 

"There  was  no  answer  this  morning  to  your  advertise- 
ment, Cytherea,"  he  continued." 

"  None." 

"  I  could  see  that  by  your  looks  when  I  came  in." 

"  Fancy  not  getting  a  single  one,"  she  said,  sadly. 
"  Surely  there  must  be  people  somewhere  who  want  gov- 
ernesses ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  those  who  want  them,  and  can  afford  to  have 
them,  get  them  mostly  by  friends'  recommendations ;  whilst 
those  who  want  them,  and  can't  afford  to  have  them,  do 
without  them." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  it.  Go  on  living  with  me.  Don't  let  the 
difficulty  trouble  your  mind  so;  you  think  about  it  all  day. 
I  can  keep  you,  Cythie,  in  a  plain  way  of  living.  Twenty-five 
shillings  a  week  do  not  amount  to  much,  truly;  but  then 
many  mechanics  have  no  more,  and  we  live  quite  as  sparingly 

as  journeymen  mechanics 'Tis  a  meagre,  narrow  life 

we  are  drifting  into,"  he  added,  gloomily,  "  but  it  is  a  degree 
more  tolerable  than  the  worrying  sensation  of  all  the  world 
being  ashamed  of  you,  which  we  experienced  at  Hocbridge." 

"I  couldn't  go  back  there  again,"  she  said. 

"Nor  I.  O,  I  don't  regret  our  course  for  a  moment. 
We  did  quite  right  in  dropping  out  of  the  world."  The 
sneering  tones  of  the  remark  were  almost  too  labored  to  be 
real.  "  Besides,"  he  continued,  "  something  better  for  me 
is  sure  to  turn  up  soon.  I  wish  my  engagement  here  was  a 
permanent  one  instead  of  for  only  two  n::onths.  It  may,  cer- 
tainly, be  for  a  longer  time,  but  all  is  uncertain." 

"  I  wish  1  could  get  something  to  do,  and  I  must  too," 
she  said  firmly.  "  Suppose,  as  is  very  probable,  you  are  not 
wanted  after  the  beginning  of  October — the  time  Mr.  Crrad- 
field  mentioned,  what  should  we  do  if  I  were  dependevii  on 
you  only  throughout  the  winter  ?  " 

They  i)ondered  on  numerous  schemes  by  which  a  yuung 
lady  might  be  supposed  to  earn  a  decent  livelihood — more 


36  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

or  less  convenient  and  feasible  in  imagination,  but  relin- 
quished  then  all  until  advertising  had  been  once  more  tried, 
this  time  taking  lower  ground.  Cytherea  was  vexed  at  her 
temerity  in  having  represented  to  the  world  that  so  inex- 
perienced a  being  as  herself  was  a  qualified  governess  ;  and 
had  a  fancy  that  this  presumption  of  hers  might  be  one  rea- 
son why  no  ladies  applied. 

The  new  and  humbler  attempt  appeared  in  the  following 
form  : —  . 

"Nursery  Govermess  or  Useful  Companion.  A 
young  person  wishes  to  hear  of  a  situation  in  either  of  the 
above  capacities.  Salary  very  moderate.  She  is  a  good 
needlewoman.     Address  C,  3,  Cross  Street,  Creston." 

In  the  evening  they  went  to  post  the  letter,  and  then 
walked  up  and  down  the  esplanade  for  a  while.  Soon  they 
met  Springrove,  said  a  few  words  to  him,  and  passed  on. 
Owen  noticed  that  his  sister's  face  had  become  crimson. 
Rather  oddly  they  met  Springrove  again  in  a  few  minutes. 

This  time  the  three  walked  a  little  way  together,  Edward 
ostensibly  talking  to  Owen,  though  with  a  single  thought  to 
the  reception  of  his  words  by  the  maiden  at  the  farther  side, 
upon  whom  his  gaze  was  mostly  resting,  and  who  was  atten- 
tively listening — looking  fixedly  upon  the  pavement  the  while. 
It  has  been  said  that  men  love  with  their  eyes ;  women  wi:h 
their  ears. 

As  Owen  and  himself  were  litde  more  than  acquaintances 
as  yet,  and  as  Springrove  was  wanting  in  the  assurance  of 
many  nien  of  his  age,  it  now  became  necessary  to  wish  his 
friends  good-evening,  or  to  find  a  reason  for  continuing  near 
Cytherea  by  saying  some  nice  new  thing.  He  thought  of  a 
new  thing;  he  proposed  a  pull  across  the  bay.  This  was 
assented  to.  They  went  to  the  pier ;  stepped  into  one  of 
the  gayly  painted  boats  moored  alongside,  and  sheered  off. 
Cytherea  sat  in  tlie  stern  steering. 

They  rowed  that  evening ;  the  next  came,  and  with  it  the 
necessity  of  rowing  again.  Then  the  next,  and  the  next, 
Cytherea  always  sitting  in  the  stern  with  the  tiller  ropes  in 
her  hands.  The  curves  of  her  figure  welded  with  those  of  the 
fragile  boat  in  perfect  continuation,  as  she  girlishly  yielded 
herself  to  its  heaving  and  sinking,  seeming  to  form  with  it  an 
organic  whole. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  yj 

Then  Owen  was  inclined  to  test  his  skill  in  paddling  a 
canoe.  Edward  did  not  like  canoes,  and  the  issue  was, 
that,  having  seen  Owen  on  board,  Springrove  proposed  to 
pull  off  after  him  with  a  pair  of  sculls ;  but  not  considering 
himself  sutificiently  accomplished  to  do  finislied  rowing  be- 
fore an  esplanade  full  of  prornenaders  when  there  was  a 
little  swell  on,  and  with  the  rudder  unshipped  in  addition,  he 
begged  that  Cytherea  might  come  with  him  and  steer  as 
before.  She  stepped  in,  and  they  floated  along  in  the  wake 
of  her  brother.     Thus  jjassed  the  fifth  evening. 

But  the  consonant  pair  were  thrown  into  still  closer  com- 
panionship, and  much  more  exclusive  connection. 


§  2.  July  the  twenty-ninth. 

It  was  a  sad  time  for  Cytherea — the  last  day  of  Spring- 
rove's  management  at  Gradfield's,  and  the  last  evening  be- 
fore his  return  from  Creston  to  his  father's  house,  previous 
to  his  departure  for  London. 

Graye  had  been  requested  by  the  architect  to  survey  a 
plot  of  land  nearly  twenty  miles  off,  which,  with  the  journey 
to  and  fro,  would  occupy  him  the  whole  day,  and  prevent 
his  returning  till  late  in  the  evening.  Cytherea  made  a 
companion  of  her  landlady  to  the  extent  of  sharing  meals 
and  sitting  with  her  during  the  morning  of  her  brother's  ab- 
sence. Mid-day  found  her  miserable  under  this  arrange- 
ment. All  the  afternoon  she  sat  alone,  looking  out  of  the 
window  for  she  scarcely  knew  whom,  and  hoping  she  scarcely 
knew  what.  Half  past  five  o'clock  came — the  end  of  Spring- 
rove's  official  day.    Two  minutes  later  Springrove  walked  b)'. 

She  endured  her  solitude  for  another  half  hour,  and  then 
could  endure  no  longer.  She  had  hoped — under  the  title 
of  feared — that  Edward  would  have  found  some  reason  or 
other  for  calling,  but  it  seemed  that  he  had  not.  Hastily 
dressing  herself  she  went  out,  when  the  farce  of  an  acciden- 
tal meeting  was  repeated.  Edward  came  upon  her  in  tha 
street  at  the  first  turning. 

♦'  He  looked  at  her  as  a  lover  can  ; 

She  looked  at  him  as  one  who  wakes — 
The  past  was  a  sleep,  and  her  life  began." 


38 


DESPERA  TE   REMEDIES. 


"Shall  we  have  a  boat  !  "  he  said,  ini|)u]sively. 

How  exquisite  a  sweetheart  is  at  first  !  Perhaps,  indeed, 
the  only  bliss  in  the  course  of  love  which  can  truly  be  called 
Eden-like,  is  that,  which  prevails  immediately  after  doubt  has 
ended  and  before  reflection  has  set  in — at  the  dawn  of  the 
emotion,  when  it  is  not  recognized  by  name,  and  before  the 
consideration  of  what  this  love  is,  has  given  birth  to  the  con- 
sideration of  what  difficulties  it  tends  to  create  ;  when  on  the 
man's  part,  the  mistress  appears  to  the  mind's  eye  in  j^ictur- 
esque,  hazy,  and  fresh  morning  lights  and  soft  morning  shad- 
ows ;  when,  as  yet,  she  is  known  only  as  the  wearer  of  one 
dress,  which  shares  her  own  personality  ;  as  the  stander  in 
one  special  position,  the  giver  of  one  bright  particular  glance, 
and  the  speaker  of  one  tender  sentence  ;  when,  on  her  part, 
she  is  timidly  careful  over  what  she  says  and  does,  lest  she 
should  be  misconstrued  or  under-rated  to  the  breadth  of  a 
shadow  of  a  hair. 

"Shall  we  have  a  boat?"  he  said  again,  more  softly, 
seeing  that  at  his  first  question  she  had  not  answered,  but 
looked  uncertainly  at  the  ground,  then  almost,  but  not  quite, 
in  his  face,  blushed  a  series  of  minute  blushes,  left  off"  in  the 
midst  of  them,  and  showed  the  usual  signs  of  perplexity  in  a 
matter  of  the  emotions. 

Owen  had  always  been  with  her  before,  but  there  was  now 
a  force  of  habit  in  the  proceedmg,  and  with  Arcadian  inno- 
cence she  assumed  that  a  row  on  the  water  was,  under  any 
circumstances,  a  natural  thing.  Without  another  word 
being  spoken  on  either  side,  they  went  down  the  steps.  He 
carefully  handed  her  in,  took  his  seat,  slid  noiselessly  off"  the 
sand,  and  away  from  the  shore. 

They  thus  sat  facing  each  other  in  the  graceful  yellow 
cockle-shell,  and  his  eyes  frequently  found  a  resting-place  in 
the  depths  of  hers.  The  boat  was  so  small  that  at  each  re- 
turn of  the  sculls,  when  his  hand  came  forward  to  begin  the 
pull,  they  approached  so  near  to  her  bosom  that  her  vivid 
imagination  began  to  thrill  her  with  a  fancy  that  he  was 
going  to  clasp  his  arms  around  her.  The  sensation  grew  so 
strong  that  she  could  not  run  the  risk  of  again  meeting  his 
eyes  at  those  critical  moments,  and  turned  aside  to  inspect 
the  distant  horizon  ;  then  she  grew  weary  of  looking  side- 
ways and  was  driven  to  return  to  her  natural  position  again 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


39 


At  this  instant  he  again  lent  forward  to  begin,  and  met  her 
glance  by  an  ardent  fixed  gaze.  An  involuntary  impulse  of 
girlish  embarrassment  caused  her  to  give  a  vehement  pull  at 
the  tiller-rope,  which  brought  the  boat's  head  round  till  they 
stood  directly  for  shore. 

His  eyes,  which  had  dwelt  upon  her  form  during  the 
whole  time  of  her  look  askance,  now  left  her  ;  he  perceived 
the  direction  in  which  they  were  going. 

"  Why,  you  have  completely  turned  the  boat,  Miss 
Graye,"  he  said,  looking  over  his  shoulder.  "Look  at  our 
track  on  the  water — a  great  semicircle,  preceded  by  a  series 
of  zigzags  as  far  as  we  can  see." 

She  looked  attentively.  "  Is  it  my  fault  or  yours  ?  "  she 
inquired.      "Mine,  I  suppose?" 

"  1  can't  help  saying  that  it  is  yours." 

She  dropped  the  rope  decisively,  feeling  the  slightest  twinge 
of  vexation  at  the  answer. 

"  VVhy  do  you  let  go  ?  " 

"  I  do  it  so  badly." 

"  O  no  ;  you  turned  about  for  shore  in  a  masterly  way. 
Do  you  wish  to  return  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  please." 

"  Of  course,  then,  I  will  at  once." 

"  1  fear  what  the  people  will  think  of  us — going  in  such 
absurd  directions,  and  all  through  my  wretched  steering." 

"Never  mind  what  the  people  think."  A  pause.  "You 
surely  are  not  so  weak  as  to  mind  what  the  people  think  on 
such  a  matter  as  that  ?  " 

That  answer  might  almost  be  called  too  firm  and  hard  to 
be  given  by  him  to  her,  but  never  mind.  For  almost  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  the  delicious  sensation,  although 
on  such  -an  insignificant  subject,  of  being  compelled  into  an 
opinion  by  a  man  she  loved.  Owen,  though  less  yielding 
physically,  and  more  practical,  would  not  have  had  the  in- 
tellectual independence  to  answer  a  woman  thus.  She  re- 
plied quietly  and  honestly — as  honestly  as  when  she  had 
stated  the  contrary  fact  a  minute  earlier — • 

"  I  don't  mind." 

"  I'll  unship  the  tiller  that  you  may  have  nothing  to  do 
going  back  but  to  hold  your  parasol,"  he  continued,  and 
arose  to  perform  the  operation,  necessarily  leaning  closely 


40 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


against  her,  to  guard  against  the  risk  of  capsizing  the  boat 
as  he  reached  his  hands  astern.  His  warm  breath  touched 
and  crept  round  her  face  Hke  a  caress  ;  but  he  was  appar- 
ently only  concerned  with  his  task.  She  looked  guilty  of 
something  when  he  seated  himself.  He  read  in  her  face 
what  that  something  was — she  had  exi)erienced  a  pleasure 
from  his  touch.  But  he  flung  a  practical  glance  over  his 
shoulder,  seized  the  oars,  and  they  sped  in  a  straight  line 
towards  the  shore, 

Cytherea  saw  that  he  read  in  her  face  what  had  passed  in 
her  heart,  and  that,  reading  it,  he  continued  as  decided  as 
before.  She  was  inwardly  distressed.  She  had  not  meant 
him  to  translate  her  words  about  returning  home  so  literally 
at  the  first ;  she  had  not  intended  him  to  learn  her  secret ; 
but  more  than  all,  she  was  not  able  to  endure  the  perception 
of  his  learning  it  and  continuing  unmoved. 

There  was  nothing  but  misery  to  come  now.  They  would 
step  ashore  ;  he  would  say  good-night,  go  to  London  to- 
morrow, and  the  miserable  she  would  lose  him  forever.  She 
did  not  quite  suppose,  what  was  the  fact,  that  a  parallel 
thought  was  simultaneously  passing  through  his  mind. 

They  were  now  within  ten  yards,  now  within  five  ;  he  was 
only  now  waiting  for  a  ''smooth"  to  bring  the  boat  in. 
Sweet,  sweet  Love  must  not  be  slain  thus,  was  the  fair  maid's 
reasoning.  She  was  equal  to  the  occasion — ladies  are — and 
dehvered  the  god  : — 

"Do  you  want  very  much  to  land,  Mr.  Springrove  ?  "  she 
said,  letting  her  young  violet  eyes  pine  at  him  a  very,  very 
little. 

"  I  ?  Not  at  all,"  said  he,  looking  an  astonishment  at  her 
inquiry  which  a  slight  twinkle  of  his  eye  half  belied.  "  But 
you  do  ?  " 

"I  think  that  now  we  have  come  out,  and  it  is  such  a 
pleasant  evening,"  she  said,  gently  and  sweetly,  "  I  should 
like  a  little  longer  row,  if  you  don't  mind?  I'll  try  to  steer 
better  than  before,  if  it  makes  it  easier  for  you.  I'll  try  very 
hard." 

It  was  the  turn  of  his  face  to  tell  a  tale  now.  He  looked, 
"  We  understand  each  other — Ah,  we  do,  darling  ! "  turned 
the  boat,  and  pulled  back  into  the  bay  once  more. 

"Now  steer  me  wherjver  you  will,"    he   said,  in  a  low 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  4I 

voice.  "  Never  mind  the  directness  of  the  course — wher- 
ever you  will." 

"  Shall  it  be  Laystead  shore  ?  "  she  said,  pointing  in  that 
direction. 

"  Laystead  shore,"  he  said,  grasping  the  sculls.  She 
took  the  strings  daintily,  and  they  wended  away  to  the  left. 

For  a  long  time  nothing  was  audible  in  the  boat  but  the 
regular  dip  of  the  oars,  and  their  movement  in  the  row-locks. 
Springrove  at  length  spoke  : 

'  I  must  go  away  to-morrow,"  he  said,  tentatively. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  faintly. 

"To  endeavor  to  advance  a  little  in  my  profession  in 
London." 

*'  Yes,"  she  said  again,  with  the  same  preoccupied 
softness. 

"But  I  shan't  advance." 

"Why  not?  Architecture  is  a  bewitching  profession. 
They  say  that  an  architect's  work  is  another  man's  play." 

"  Yes.  But  worldly  advantage  from  an  art  doesn't  depend 
upon  mastering  it.  I  used  to  think  it  did;  but  it  doesn't. 
Those  who  get  rich  need  have  no  skill  at  all  as  artists." 

"  What  need  they  have  ?  " 

"A  certain  kind  of  energy  which  men  with  any  fondness 
for  art  possess  very  seldom  indeed — an  earnestness  in  mak- 
ing acquaintances,  and  a  love  for  using  them.  They  give 
their  whole  attention  to  the  art  of  dining  out,  after  master- 
ing a  few  rudimentary  facts  to  serve  up  in  conversation. 
Now  after  saying  that,  do  I  seem  a  man  likely  to  make  a 
name  ?  " 

"  You  seem  a  man  likely  to  make  a  mistake." 

"What's  that?" 

"To  give  too  much  room  to  the  latent  feeling  which  is 
rather  common  in  these  days  among  the  unappreciated,  that 
because  some  r.iarkedly  successful  men  are  fools,  all  mark- 
edly unsuccessful  men  are  geniuses." 

"  Pretty  subtle  for  a  young  lady,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  From 
that  remark  I  should  fancy  you  had  bought  experience." 

She  passed  over  the  idea.  "  Do  try  to  succeed,"  she  said 
with  wistful  thoughtfulness,  leaving  her  eyes  on  him. 

Springrove  flushed  a  little  at  the  earnestness  of  her  words, 
and  mused.     "  Then,  like  Cato  the  Censor,  I  shall  do  what 


42 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


I  despise,  to  be  in  the  fashion,"  he  saicl  at  last  ....  "Well, 
when  I  found  all  this  out  that  I  was  speaking  of,  whatever 
do  you  think  I  did  ?  From  liaving  already  loved  verse  pas- 
sionately, I  went  on  to  read  it  continually;  then  I  wenti 
rhyming  myself.  If  anything  on  earth  ruins  a  man  for  use/ 
ful  occupation,  and  for  content  with  reasonable  success  ira 
a  profession  or  trade,  it  is  a  habit  of  writing  verses  on  emoi 
tional  subjects,  which  had  much  better  be  left  to  die  fron^ 
want  of  nourishment."  * 

"Do  you  write  poems  now?"  she  said. 

"  None.  Poetical  days  are  getting  past  with  me,  according 
to  the  usual  rule.  VVriting  rhymes  is  a  stage  people  of  my 
sort  pass  through,  as  they  pass  through  the  stage  of  shaving 
for  a  beard,  or  thinking  they  are  ill-used,  or  saying  there's 
nothing  in  the  world  worth  living  for." 

"  Then  the  difference  between  a  common  man  and  a  rec- 
ognized poet  is,  that  one  has  been  deluded  and  cured  of 
his  delusion,  and  the  other  continues  deluded  all  his  days." 

"  Well,  there's  just  enough  truth  in  what  you  say,  to  make 
the  remark  unbearable.  However,  it  doesn't  matter  to  me, 
now  that  I  'meditate  the  thankless  Muse'  no  longer,  but 
.  .  .  ."  He  paused  as  if  endeavoring  to  think  what  better 
thing  he  did. 

Cytherea's  mind  ran  on  to  the  succeeding  lines  of  the 
poem,  and  their  startling  harmony  with  the  present  situation 
suggested  the  fancy  that  he  was  ^^  sporti?ig"  with  her,  and 
brought  an  awkward  contemplativeness  to  her  face. 

Springrove  guessed  her  thoughts,  and  in  answer  to  them 
simply  said,  "  Yes."     Then  they  were  silent  again. 

''  If  I  had  known  an  Amaryllis  was  coming  here,  I  should 
not  have  made  arrangements  for  leaving,"  he  resumed. 

Such  levity,  superimposed  on  the  notion  of  sport,  was  in- 
tolerable to  Cytherea ;  for  a  woman  seems  never  to  see  any 
but  the  serious  side  of  her  attachment,  though  the  most  de- 
voted lover  has  all  the  time  a  vague  and  dim  perception 
that  he  is  losing  his  old  dignity  and  frittering  away  his  time. 

"  But  will  you  not  try  again  to  get  on  with  your  profes- 
sion ?  Try  once  more ;  do  try  once  more,"  she  murmured. 
"  I  am  going  to  try  again.  I  have  advertised  for  something 
to  do." 

"  Of  course   I  will,"  he  said  with  an   eager  gesture  an  d 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


43 


smile.  "  But  we  must  remember  that  the  fame  of  Christo- 
pher Wren  himself  depended  upon  the  accident  of  a  fire  in 
Pudding  Lane.  My  successes  seem  to  come  very  slowly. 
I  often  think,  that  before  I  am  ready  to  live,  it  will  be  time 
for  uie  to  die.  However,  I  am  trying — not  for  fame  now, 
but  for  an  eas}'  life  of  reasonable  comfort." 

It  is  a  melancholy  truth  for  the  middle  classes,  that  in^ 
proportion  as  they  develop,  by  the  study  of  poetry  and  art,  ; 
their  capacity  for  conjugal  love  of  the  highest  and  purest  \ 
kind,  they  limit  the  possibility  of  their  being  able  to  exercise  / 
it — the  very  act  putting  out  of  their  power  the  attainment/ 
of  means  sufficient  for  marriage.  The  man  who  works  up  a! 
good  income  has  had  no  time  to  learn  love  to  its  exquisite** 
extreme  ;  the  man  who  has  learnt  that  has  had  no  time  tO! 
get  rich. 

"  And  if  you  should  fail — utterly  fail  to  get  that  reasona- 
ble wealth,"  she  said,  earnestly,  "  don't  be  perturbed.  The 
truly  great  stand  upon  no  middle  ledge ;  they  are  either 
famous  or  unknown." 

"  Unknown,"  he  said,  "  if  their  ideas  have  been  allowed 
to  flow  with  a  sympathetic  breadth.  Famous  only  if  they 
have  been  convergent  and  exclusive." 

"Yes;  and  I  am  afraid,  from  that,  that  my  remark  was 
but  discouragement,  wearing  the  dress  of  comfort.  Perhaps 
1  was  not  quite  right  in — " 

"  It  depends  entirely  upon  what  is  meant  by  being  trulys 
great.  But  the  long  and  the  short  of  the  matter  is,  that  men  i 
must  stick  to  a  thing  if  they  want  to  succeed  in  it — not  giv-l 
ing  way  to  over-much  admiration  for  the  flowers  they  seel 
growing  in  other  people's  borders  ;  which  I  am  afraid  has! 
been  my  case."     He  looked  into  the  far  distance  and  paused./) 

Adherence  to  a  course  with  persistence  sufficient  to 
ensure  success  is  possible  to  widely  appreciative  minds  only 
when  there  is  also  found  in  them  a  power — commonplace  in 
its  nature,  but  rare  in  such  combination — the  power  of  as- 
suming to  conviction  that  in  the  outlying  paths  which  a})- 
pear  so  much  more  brilliant  than  their  own,  tliere  are  bitter- 
nesses equally  great — unperceived  simply  on  account  of 
their  remoteness. 

They   were   opposite    Laystead    shore.     The   cliffs  here 


44  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

were  formed  of  strata  completely  contrasting  with  those  of 
the  farther  side  of  the  Bay,  whilst  in  and  beneath  the  water 
hard  boulders  had  taken  tlie  place  of  sand  and  shingle,  be- 
tween which,  however,  the  sea  glided  noiselessly,  without 
breaking  the  crest  of  a  single  wave,  so  strikingly  calm  was  the 
air.  The  breeze  had  entirely  died  away,  leaving  the  water 
of  that  rare  glassy  smoothness  which  is  unmarked  even  by 
the  small  dimples  of  the  least  aerial  movement.  Purples 
and  blues  of  divers  shades  were  reflected  from  this  mirror 
accordingly  as  each  undulation  sloped  east  or  west.  They 
could  see  the  rocky  bottom  some  twenty  feet  beneath  them, 
luxuriant  with  weeds  of  various  growths,  and  dotted  with 
pulpy  creatures  reflecting  a  silvery  and  spangled  radiance 
upwards  to  their  eyes. 

At  length  she  looked  at  him  to  learn  the  effect  of  her 
words  of  encouragement.  He  had  let  the  oars  drift  along 
side,  and  the  boat  had  come  to  a  standstill.  Everything  on 
earth  seemed  taking  a  contemplative  rest,  as  if  waiting  to 
hear  the  avowal  of  something  from  his  lips.  At  that  instant 
he  appeared  to  break  a  resolution  hitherto  zealously  kept. 
Leaving  his  seat  amidships  he  came  and  gently  edged  him- 
self down  beside  her  upon  the  narrow  seat  at  the  stern. 

She  breathed  quicker  and  warmer ;  he  took  her  right 
hand  in  his  own  right :  it  was  not  withdrawn.  He  put  his 
left  hand  behind  her  neck  till  it  came  round  upon  her  left 
cheek  :  it  was  not  thrust  away,  l^ightly  pressing  her,  he 
brought  her  face  and  mouth  towards  his  own  ;  when,  at  this 
the  very  brink,  some  unaccountable  thought  or  spell  within 
him  suddenly  made  him  halt — even  now,  and  as  it  seemed 
as  much  to  himself  as  to  her,  he  timidly  whispered, 
"  May  I  ?  " 

Her  endeavor  was  to  say  No  so  denuded  of  its  flesh  and 
sinews  that  its  nature  would  hardly  be  recognized,  or  in 
other  words  a  No  from  so  near  the  positive  frontier  as  to  be 
affected  with  the  Yes  accent.  It  was  thus  a  whispered  No, 
drawn  out  to  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  minute's  length,  the  O 
making  itself  audible  as  a  sound  like  the  spring  coo  of  a 
pigeon  on  unusually  friendly  terms  with  his  mate.  Though 
conscious  of  iier  success  in  producing  the  kind  of  word  she 
had  wished  to  produce,  she  at  the  same  time  trembled  in 
suspense  as  to  how  it  would  be  taken.     But  the  time  availa 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


45 


ble  for  doubt  was  so  short  as  to  admit  of  scarcely  more  than 
half-a-dozen  vibrations  :  pressing  closer  he  kissed  her. 
Then  he  kissed  her  again  with  a  longer  kiss. 

It  was  the  supremly  happy  moment  of  their  experience. 
The  bloom  and  the  purple  light  were  strong  on  the  linea- 
ments of  both.  Their  hearts  could  hardly  believe  the  evi- 
dence of  their  hps. 

"  I  love  you,  and  you  love  me,  Cytherea  ! "  he  whispered. 

She  could  not  deny  it ;  and  all  seemed  well.  The  gentle 
sounds  around  them  from  the  hills,  the  plains,  the  distant 
town,  the  adjacent  shore,  the  water  heaving  at  their  side,  the 
kiss,  and  the  long  kiss,  were  all  "  many  a  voice  of  one  de- 
light," and  in  unison  with  each  other. 

But  his  mind  flew  back  to  the  same  unpleasant  thought 
which  had  been  connected  with  the  resolution  he  had  broken 
a  minute  or  two  earlier.  "  I  could  be  a  slave  at  my  profes- 
sion to  win  you,  Cytherea  ;  I  would  work  at  the  meanest 
honest  trade  to  be  near  you — much  less  claim  you  as  mine  ; 
I  would — anything.  But  I  haye  not  told  you  all ;  it  is  not 
this  ;  you  don't  know  what  there  is  yet  to  tell.  Could  you 
forgive  as  you  can  love  ?  "  She  was  alarmed  to  see  that  he 
had  become  pale  with  the  question. 

"  No — do  not  speak,"  he  said.  "  I  have  kept  something 
from  you,  which  has  now  become  the  cause  of  a  great  un- 
easiness. 1  had  no  right — to  love  you ;  but  I  did  it. 
Something  forbade —  " 

"What?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Something  forbade  me — till  the  kiss — yes,  till  the  kiss 
came  ;  and  now  nothing  shall  forbid  it !  We'll  hope  in 
spite  of  all  ....  I  must,  however,  speak  of  this  love  of 
ours  to  your  brother.  Dearest,  you  had  better  go  in-doors 
whilst  I  meet  him  at  the  station,  and  explain  everything." 

Cytherea's  short-lived  bliss  was  dead  and  gone.  O,  if  she 
had  known  of  this  sequel  would  she  have  allowed  him  to 
break  down  the  barrier  of  mere  acquaintanceship — never, 
never  ! 

"  Will  you  not  explain  to  me  ? "  she  faintly  urged. 
Doubt — indefinite,  carking  doubt  had  taken  possession  of 
her. 

Not  now.  You  alarm  yourself  unnecesnarily,"  he  said, 
tenderly.     "  My  only  reason  for   keeping    silence   is   that 


46  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

with  my  present  knowledge  I  may  tell  an  untrue  story.  It 
may  be  there  is  nothing  to  tell.  I  am  to  blame  for  haste  in 
alluding  to  any  such  thing.  Forgive  me,  sweet — forgive  me." 
Her  heart  was  ready  to  burst,  and  she  could  not  answer 
him.     He  returned  to  his  place,  and  took  to  the  oars. 

They  again  made  for  the  distant  esplanade,  now,  with  its 
line  of  houses,  lying  like  a  dark  gray  band  against  the  light 
western  sky.  The  sun  had  set,  and  a  star  or  two  began  to 
peep  out.  They  drew  nearer  their  destination,  Edward  as  he 
pulled  tracing  listlessly  with  his  eyes  the  red  stripes  upon  her 
scarf,  which  grew  to  appear  as  black  ones  in  the  increasing  dusk 
of  evening.  She  surveyed  the  long  line  of  lamps  on  the  sea 
wall  of  the  town,  now  looking  small  and  yellow,  and  seeming 
to  send  long  taper  roots  of  fire  quivering  down  deep  into  the 
sea.  By  and  by  they  reached  the  landing  steps.  He  took  her 
hand  as  before,  and  found  it  as  cold  as  the  water  about  them. 
It  was  not  relinquished  till  he  reached  her  door.  His  assur- 
ance had  not  removed  the  constraint  of  her  manner :  he  saw 
that  she  blamed  him  mutely  and  with  her  eyes,  like  a  cap- 
tured sparrow.  Left  alone,  he  went  and  seated  himself  on 
a  chair  on  the  Esplanade. 

Neither  could  she  go  in-doors  to  her  solitary  room,  feeling  as 
she  did  in  such  a  state  of  desperate  heaviness.  When  Spring- 
rove  was  out  of  sight  she  turned  back,  and  arrived  at  the  cor- 
ner just  in  time  to  see  him  sit  down.  Then  she  glided  pen- 
sively along  the  pavement  behind  him,  forgetting  heiself  to 
marble  like  Melancholy  herself,  and  mused  in  his  compan)' 
unseen.  She  heard,  without  heeding,  the  notes  of  pianos  and 
singing  voices  from  the  fashionable  houses  at  her  back,  from 
the  open  windows  of  which  the  lamp  light  streamed  to  meet 
that  of  the  orange-hued  full  moon,  newly  risen  over  the  bay 
in  front.  Then  Edward  began  to  pace  up  and  down,  and 
Cytherea,  fearing  that  he  would  notice  her,  doubled  behind 
and  across  the  road,  flinging  him  a  last  wistful  look  as  she 
passed  out  of  sight.  No  proiuise  from  him  to  write ;  no  re- 
quest that  she  herself  would  do  so — nothing  but  an  indefinite 
expression  of  hope  in  the  face  of  some  fear  unknown  to  her. 
Alas,  alas  ! 

When  Owen  returned  he  found  she  was  not  in  the  small 
sitting-room,  and  creeping  upstairs  into  her  bedroom  with  a 
light  he  discovered  her  there  lying  asleep  upon  the  coverlet 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


47 


of  the  bed,  still  with  her  hat  and  jacket  on.  She  had  flung 
herself  down  on  entering,  and  succumbed  to  the  unwonted 
oppressiveness  that  ever  attends  full  blown  love.  The  wet 
traces  of  tears  were  yet  visible  upon  her  long  drooping  lashes. 

"  Love  is  a  sowre  delight,  and  sugred  griefe. 
A  living  death,  and  ever-dying  life." 

"  Cytherea,"  he  whispered,  kissing  her.  She  awoke  with  a 
start,  and  vented  an  exclamation  before  recovering  her  judg- 
ment.    "  He's  gone  !  "  she  said. 

"  He  has  told  me  all,"  said  Graye,  soothingly.  "  He  is 
going  off  early  to-morrow  morning.  'Twas  a  shame  of  him 
to  win  you  away  from  me,  and  cruel  of  you  to  keep  the 
growth  of  this  attachment  a  secret." 

"  We  couldn't  help  it,"  she  said,  and  then  jumping  up — 
"  Owen,  has  he  told  you  a//?" 

"All  of  your  love  from  beginning  to  end,"  he  said  simply. 

Edward  then  had  not  told  more — as  he  ought  to  have 
done  ;  yet  she  could  not  convict  him.  But  she  would  struggle 
against  his  fetters.  She  tingled  to  the  very  soles  of  her  feet 
at  the  very  possibility  that  he  might  be  deluding  her. 

"  Owen,"  she  continued,  with  dignity,  "  what  is  he  to  me  ? 
Nothing.  I  must  dismiss  such  weakness  as  this — believe  me, 
I  will.  Something  far  more  pressing  must  drive  it  away.  I 
have  been  looking  my  position  steadily  in  the  face,  and  I 
must  get  a  living  somehow.    I  mean  to  advertise  once  more." 

"  Advertising  is  no  use." 

"  This  one  will  be."  He  looked  surprised  at  the  sanguine 
tone  of  her  answer,  till  she  took  a  i)iece  of  paper  from  the 
table  and  showed  it  him.  "  See  what  1  am  going  to  do,"  she 
said,  sadly,  almost  bitterly.     This  was  her  third  effort. 

"  Lady's  maid.  Inexperienced.  Age  eighteen.  G.,  3, 
Cross  Street,  Creston." 

Owen — Owen  the  respectable — looked  blank  astonishment. 
He  repeated  in  a  nameless,  varying  tone,  the  two  words, 

"  I^ady's  maid  !  " 

"  Yes  J-  lady's  maid.  'Tis  an  honest  profession,"  said 
Cytherea,  bravely. 

''But you,  Cytherea?" 

♦'  Yes,  I— who  am  I  ?  " 


48  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

*' You  will  never  be  a  lady's  maid — never,  I  am  quite  sure." 

*'  I  shall  try  to  be,  at  any  rate." 

"  Such  a  disgrace — " 

"  Nonsense  !  I  maintain  that  it  is  no  disgrace  !  "  she  said, 
rather  warmly.     "You  know  very  well—" 

"Well,  since  you  will,  you  must,"  he  interrupted.  "Why 
do  you  put  '  inexperienced  '  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am." 

"Nevermind  that — scratch  out  'inexperienced.'  We  are 
poor,  Cytherea,  aren't  we?"  he  murmured,  after  a  silence, 
"  and  it  seems  that  the  two  months  will  close  my  engagement 
here." 

"  We  can  put  up  with  being  poor,"  she  said,  "  If  they  only 

give  us  work  to  do Yes,  we  desire  as  a  blessing 

what  was  given  us  as  a  curse,  and  even  that  is  denied.  How- 
ever, be  cheerful,  Owen,  and  never  mind  ! " 

In  justice  to  desponding  men,  it  is  as  well  to  remember 
that  the  brighter  endurance  of  women  at  these  epochs — in- 
valuable, sweet,  angelic,  as  it  is — owes  more  of  its  origin  to 
a  narrower  vision  that  shuts  out  many  of  the  leaden-eyed  de- 
spairs in  the  van,  than  to  a  hopefulness  intense  enough  to 
quell  them. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  EVENTS  OF  ONE  DAY. 
§  I.  August  the  fourth.     Till  four  o'clock. 

THE  early  part  of  the  next  week  brought  an  answer  to 
Cytherea's  last  note  of  hope  in  the  way  of  advertise- 
ment— not  from  a  distance  of  hundreds  of  miles,  London, 
Scotland,  Ireland,  the  Continent — as  Cytherea  seemed  to 
think  it  must,  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  means  adopted  for 
obtaining  it,  but  from  a  place  in  the  neighborhood  of  that 
in  which  she  was  living — a  country  mansion  about  fifteen 
miles  off,     The  reply  ran  thus  : — 

•'  Knapwater  House, 

*'  August  yd,  1864.  \ 

"  Miss  Aldclyfife  is  in  want  of  a  young  person  as  lady's 
maid.  The  duties  of  the  place  are  light.  Miss  Aldclyffe 
will  be  in  Creston  on  Thursday,  when  (should  G.  still  not 
have  heard  of  a  situation)  she  would  like  to  see  her  at  the 
Belvedere  Hotel,  Esplanade,  at  four  o'clock.  No  answer 
need  be  returned  to  this  note." 

A  little  earlier  than  the  time  named,  Cytherea,  clothed  ia 
a  modest  bonnet,  and  a  black  silk  jacket,  turned  down  to 
the  hotel.  Expectation,  the  fresh  air  from  the  water,  the 
bright,  far-extending  outlook,  raised  the  most  delicate  of 
pink  colors  to  her  cheeks,  and  restored  to  her  tread  a  por- 
tion of  that  elasticity  which  her  past  troubles,  and  thoughts 
of  Edward,  had  well-nigh  taken  away. 

She  entered  the  vestibule,  and  went  to  the  window  of  the 
bar. 

"  Is  Miss  Aldclyffe  here  ?  "  she  said,  to  a  nicely-dressed 
barmaid  in  the  foreground,  who  was  talking  to  a  landlady 


50  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

covered  with  chains,  knobs,  clamps  of  gold,  in  the  back- 
ground. 

"No,  she  isn't,"  said  the  barmaid,  not  very  civilly.  Cy- 
therea  looked  a  shade  too  pretty  for  a  plain  dresser. 

"  Miss  Aldclyflfe  is  expected  here,"  the  landlady  said  to  a 
third  person,  out  of  sight,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  had  known 
for  several  days  the  fact  newly  discovered  from  Cytherea. 
"  Get  ready  her  room — be  quick."'  From  the  alacrity  with 
which  the  order  was  given  and  taken,  it  seemed  to  Cytherea 
that  Miss  Aldclyffe  must  be  a  women  of  considerable  im- 
portance. 

"  You  are  to  have  an  interview  with  Miss  Aldclyffe  here  ?  " 
the  landlady  inquired. 

"  Yes." 

"  The  young  person  had  better  wait,"  continued  the  land- 
lady, didactically.  With  a  money-taker's  intuition,  she  had 
rightly  divined  that  Cytherea  would  bring  no  profit  to  the 
house. 

Cytherea  was  shown  into  a  nondescript  chamber,  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  building,  which  appeared  to  be  either  bed- 
room or  day  room,  as  occasion  necessitated,  and  was  one  of 
a  suite  at  the  end  of  the  first-floor  corridor.  The  prevailing 
color  of  the  walls,  curtains,  carpet,  and  coverings  of  furni- 
ture, was  more  or  less  blue,  to  which  the  cold  light  coming 
from  the  north-easterly  sky,  and  falling  on  a  wide  roof  of 
new  slates — the  only  objects  the  small  window  commanded 
— imparted  a  more  striking  paleness.  But  underneath  the 
door  communicating  with  the  next  room  of  the  suite,  gleamed 
an  intinitesimally  small,  yet  very  powerful,  fraction  of  con- 
trast— a  very  thin  line  of  ruddy  light,  showing  that  the  sun 
beamed  strongly  into  this  room  adjoining.  The  line  of  ra- 
diance was  the  only  cheering  thing  visible  in  the  place. 

People  give  way  to  very  infantine  thoughts  and  actions 
when  they  wait  ;  the  battle-field  of  life  is  temporarily  fenced 
off  by  a  hard  and  fast  line — the  interview.  Cytherea  fixed 
her  eyes  idly  upon  the  streak,  and  began  picturing  a  wonder- 
ful paradise  on  the  other  side  as  the  source  of  such  a  beam 
— reminding  her  of  the  well-known  good  deed  in  a  naughty 
tvorld. 

Whilst  she  watched  the  particles  of  dust  floating  before 
the  brilliant  chink  she  heard  a  carriage  and  horses  stop  o[> 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


51 


posite  the  front  of  the  house.  Afterwards  came  the  rustle 
of  a  lady's  dress  down  the  corridor,  and  into  the  room  com- 
municating with  the  one  Cytherea  occulted. 

The  golden  line  vanished  in  parts  like  the  phosphorescent 
streak  caused  by  the  striking  of  a  match  ;  there  was  the  fall 
of  a  light  footstep  on  the  floor  just  behind  it ;  then  a  j^ause. 
Then  the  foot  tapi>ed  impatiently,  and  "There's  no  one 
here  !"  was  spoken  imperiously  by  a  lady's  tongue. 

"  No,  madam  ;  in  the  next  room.  I  am  going  to  fetch 
her,"  said  the  attendant. 

"  That  will  do,  or  you  needn't  go  in  :  I  will  call  her." 

Cytherea  had  risen,  and  she  advanced  to  the  middle 
door  with  the  chink  under  it  as  the  servant  retired.  She  had 
just  laid  her  hand  on  the  knob,  when  it  slipped  round  within 
her  fingers,  and  the  door  was  pulled  open  from  the  other 
side. 

§  2.  Four  d  clock. 

The  direct  blaze  of  the  afternoon  sun,  partly  refracted 
through  the  crimson  curtains  of  the  window,  and  heightened 
by  reflection  from  the  crimson-flock  paper  which  covered 
the  walls,  and  a  carpet  on  the  floor  of  the  same  tint,  shone 
with  a  burning  glow  round  tlie  form  of  a  lady  standing  close 
to  Cytherea's  front  with  the  door  in  her  hand.  The  stranger 
appeared  to  the  maiden's  eyes — fresh  from  the  blue  gloom, 
and  assisted  by  an  imagination  fresh  from  nature — like  a  tall 
black  figure  standing  in  the  midst  of  fire.  It  was  the  figure 
of  a  finely  built  woman,  of  spare  though  riot  angular  propor- 
tions. 

Cytherea  involuntarily  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  re- 
treated a  step  or  two,  and  then  she  could  for  the  first  time 
see  Miss  Aldclyflfe's  face  in  addition  to  her  outline,  lit  up  by 
the  secondary  and  softer  light  that  was  reflected  from  the 
varnished  panels  of  the  door.  She  was  not  a  very  young 
woman,  but  could  boast  of  much  beauty  of  the  majestic 
autumnal  phase. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  lady,  "  come  this  way."  Cytherea 
followed  her  to  the  embrasure  of  the  window. 

Both  the  women  showed  off  themselves  to  advantage  as 
they  walked  forward  in  the  orange  light ;  and  each  showed 


52 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


too  in  her  face  that  she  had  been  struck  with  her  compan- 
ion's appearance.  The  warm  tint  added  to  Cytherea's  face 
a  voUiptuousness  which  youth  and  a  simple  hfe  had  not  yet 
allowed  to  express  itself  there  ordinarily  ;  whilst  in  the  elder 
lady's  face  it  reduced  the  customary  expression,  which  might 
have  been  called  sternness,  if  not  harshness,  to  grandeur, 
and  warmed  her  decaying  complexion  with  much  of  the 
youthful  richness  it  plainly  had  once  possessed. 

She  appeared  now  no  more  than  five-and-thirty,  though 
she  might  easily  have  been  ten  or  a  dozen  years  older.  She 
had  clear  steady  eyes,  a  Roman  nose  in  its  purest  form,  and 
also  the  round  prominent  chin  with  which  the  Caisars  are  rep- 
resented in  ancient  marbles  ;  a  mouth  expressing  a  ca[)a- 
ability  for  and  tendency  to  strong  emotion,  habitually  con- 
trolled by  pride.  There  was  a  severity  about  the  lower  out- 
lines of  the  face  which  gave  a  masculine  cast  to  this  portion 
of  her  countenance.  Womanly  weakness  was  nowhere  vis- 
able  save  in  one  part — the  curve  of  her  forehead  and  brows 
— there  it  was  clear  and  emphatic.  She  wore  a  lace  shawl 
over  a  brown  silk  dress,  and  a  net  bonnet  set  with  a  few 
blue  cornflowers. 

"  You  inserted  the  advertisement  for  a  situation  as  lady's 
maid,  giving  the  address,  G.,  Cross  Street  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam.      Graye." 

"  Yes.  I  have  heard  your  name — Mrs.  Morris,  my 
housekeeper,  meniioned  you,  and  pointed  out  your  adver- 
tisement." 

I'his  was  puzzling  intelligence,  but  there  was  not  time 
enough  to  consider  it. 

"  W'here  did  you  live  last  ?  "  continued  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

"  I  have  never  been  a  servant  before.      I  lived  at  home." 

"  Never  been  out  ?  I  thought  too  at  sight  of  you  that 
you  were  too  girlish  looking  to  liave  done  much.  But  why 
did  you  advertise  with  such  assurance  ?  It  misleads 
people." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  :  I  put  '  inexperienced'  at  first,  but  my 
brother  said  it  is  absurd  to  trumpet  your  own  weakness  to 
the  world,  and  would  not  let  it  remain." 

''But  your  mother  knew  what  was  right,  I  suppose  ?" 

*'  1  have  no  mother,  madam. ' 

"  Your  father,  then  ?  " 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  53 

"  I  have  no  father." 

"Well,"  she  said,  more  softly,  "your  sisters,  aunts,  or 
cousins." 

"  They  didn't  think  anything  about  it." 

"  You  didn't  ask  them,  I  suppose." 

"  No." 

"  You  should  have,  then.     Why  didn't  you  ?" 

"  Because  I  havn't  any  of  them,  either." 

Miss  Aldc.lyffe  showed  her  surprise.  "  You  deserve  for- 
giveness then  at  any  rate,  child,"  she  said,  in  a  sort  of  dryly 
kind  tone.  "  However,  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  suit  me,  as 
I  am  looking  for  an  elderly  person.  You  see,  I  want  an  ex- 
perienced maid  who  knows  all  the  usual  duties  of  the  office." 
She  was  going  to  add,  "  Though  I  like  your  appearance," 
but  the  words  seemed  offensive  to  apply  to  the  ladylike  girl 
before  her,  and  she  modified  them  to,  "  Though  I  Uke  you 
much." 

"I  am  sorry  I  misled  you,  madam,"  said  Cytherea. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  stood  in  a  reverie,  without  replying. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  continued  Cytherea. 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Graye — I  hope  you  will  succeed." 

Cytherea  turned  away  towards  the  door.  The  movement 
chanced  to  be  one  of  her  master-pieces.  It  was  precise  :  it 
had  as  much  beauty  as  was  compatible  with  precision,  and 
as  little  coquettishness  as  was  compatible  with  beauty. 

And  she  had  in  turning  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
other  lady  with  a  faint  accent  of  reproach  in  her  face. 
Those  who  remember  Greuze's  "  Head. of  a  Girl "  in  one  of 
the  public  picture-galleries,  have  an  idea  of  Cythcrea's  look 
askance  at  the  turning.  It  is  not  for  a  man  to  tell  fishers 
of  men  how  to  set  out  their  fascinations  so  as  to  bring  about 
the  highest  possible  average  of  takes  within  the  year ;  but 
the  action  that  tugs  the  hardest  of  all  at  an  emotional  be- 
holder is  this  sweet  method  of  turning  which  steals  the  bosom 
away  and  leaves  the  eyes  behind. 

Now  Miss  Aldclyffe  herself  was  no  tyro  at  wheeling. 
When  Cytherea  had  closed  the  door  upon  her,  she  remained 
for  some  time  in  her  motionless  attitude,  listening  to  the 
gradually  dying  sound  of  the  maiden's  retreating  footsteps. 
She  murmured  to  herself,  "  It  is  ahnost  worth  while  to  be 
bored  with  instructing  her  in  order  to  have  a  creature  who 


54 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


could  glide  round  my  luxurious  indolent  body  in  that  man- 
ner, and  look  at  me  in  that  way — I  warrant  how  light  her 

fingers  are  upon  one's  head  and  neck What  a  silly, 

modest  young  thing  she  is,  to  go  away  as  suddenly  as  that ! " 
She  rung  the  bell. 

"Ask  the  young  lady  who  has  just  left  me  to  step  back 
again,"  she  said  to  the  attendant.  "  Quick  !  or  she  will  be 
gone." 

Cytherea  was  now  in  the  vestibule,  tliinking  that  if  she 
had  told  her  history,  Miss  Aldclyffe  might  perhaps  have 
taken  her  into  the  household  ;  yet  her  history  she  particu- 
larly wished  to  conceal  from  a  stranger.  When  she  was  re- 
called she  turned  back  without  feeling  much  surprise. 
Something,  she  knew  not  what,  told  her  she  had  not  seen 
the  last  of  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

"  You  have  somebody  to  refer  me  to,  of  course,"  the  lady 
said  when  Cytherea  had  re-entered  the  room. 

"Yes  ;  Mr.  Thorn,  a  solicitor  at  Reading." 

"And  are  you  a  clever  needlewoman  ?" 

"  I  am  considered  to  be." 

"  Then  I  think  that  at  any  rate  I  will  write  to  Mr.  Thorn," 
said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  with  a  little  smile.  "  It  is  true,  the 
whole  proceeding  is  very  irregular  ;  but  my  present  maid 
leaves  next  Monday,  and  neither  of  the  live  I  have  already 

seen  seem  to  do  for  me Well,  I  will  write  to  Mr. 

Thorn,  and  if  his  reply  is  satisfactory,  you  shall  hear  from 
me.  It  will  be  as  well  to  set  yourself  in  readiness  to  come 
on  Monday." 

When  Cytherea  had  again  been  watched  out  of  the  room, 
Miss  Aldclyffe  asked  for  writing  materials,  that  she  might  at 
once  communicate  with  Mr.  Thorn.  She  indecisively  played 
with  the  pen.  "  Suppose  Mr.  Thorn's  reply  to  be  in  any 
way  disheartening^and  even  if  so  from  his  own  imperfect 
acquaintance  with  the  young  creature  more  than  from  cir- 
cumstantial knowledge — I  shall  feel  obliged  to  give  her  up. 
Then  I  shall  regret  that  I  did  not  give  her  one  trial  in  sj^ite 
of  other  people's  prejudices.  All  her  account  of  herself  is 
reliable  enough — yes,  I  can  see  that  by  her  face.  I  like 
that  face  of  hers." 

Miss  Aldclyffe  put  down  the  pen,  md  left  the  hotel  with- 
out writing  to  Mr.  Thorn. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   EVENTS   OF   ONE   DAY. 
§  I.  August  the  eighth.     Morning  and  afternoon. 

AT  post  time  on  that  following  Monday  morning, 
Cytherea  watched  so  anxiously  for  the  postman,  that 
as  the  time  which  must  bring  him  narrowed  less  and  less  her 
vivid  expectation  had  only  a  degree  less  tangibility  than  his 
presence  itself  In  another  second  his  form  came  into  view. 
He  brought  two  letters  for  Cytherea. 

One  from  Miss  Aldclyffe,  simply  stating  that  she  wished 
Cytherea  to  come  on  trial ;  that  she  would  require  her  to 
be  at  Knapwater  House  by  Monday  evening. 

The  other  was  from  Edward  Springrove.  He  told  her 
that  she  was  the  bright  spot  of  his  life  ;  that  her  existence 
was  far  dearer  to  him  than  his  own ;  that  he  had  never 
known  what  it  was  to  love  till  he  had  met  her.  True,  he 
had  felt  passing  attachments  to  other  faces  from  time  to 
time  ;  but  they  all  had  been  weak  inclinations  towards  those 
faces  as  they  then  appeared.  He  loved  her  past  and  future, 
as  well  as  her  present.  He  pictured  her  as  a  child  :  he  loved 
her.  He  pictured  her  of  sage  years  :  he  loved  her.  He 
pictured  her  in  trouble  :  he  loved  her.  Homely  friendship 
entered  into  his  love  for  her,  without  which  all  love  was 
evanescent. 

He  would  make  one  depressing  statement.  Uncontrolla- 
ble circumstances  (a  long  history,  with  which  it  was  impos- 
sible to  acquaint  her  at  present)  operated  to  a  certain  extent 
as  a  drag  upon  his  wishes.  He  had  felt  this  more  strongly 
at  the  time  of  their  parting  than  he  did  now — and  it  was  the 
cause  of  his  abrupt  behavior,  for  which  he  begged  her  to 
forgive  him.  He  saw  now  an  honorable  way  of  freeing  him- 
self, and  the  perception  had  prompted  him  to  write.     In  the 


56 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


meantime  might  he  indulge  in  the  hope  of  possessing  her  on 
some  bright  future  day,  when,  by  hard  labor  generated  from 
her  own  encouraging  words,  he  had  [placed  himself  in  a  po- 
sition she  would  think  worthy  to  be  shared  with  him  ? 

Dear  little  letter :  she  huddled  it  up.  How  much  more 
important  a  love-letter  seems  to  a  girl  than  to  a  man  ! 
Sp;ingrove  was  unconsciously  clever  in  his  letters,  and  a 
man  with  a  talent  of  that  kind  may  write  himself  up  to  a 
hero  in  the  mind  of  a  young  woman  who  loves  him  without 
knowing  much  about  him.  Springrove  already  stood  a  cubit 
higher  in  her  imagination  than  he  did  in  his  shoes. 

During  the  day  she  flitted  about  the  room  in  an  ecstasy 
of  pleasure,  packing  the  things  and  thinking  of  an  answer 
which  should  be  worthy  of  the  tender  tone  of  the  question, 
her  love  bubbling  from  her  involuntarily,  like  prophecyings 
from  a  prophet. 

In  the  afternoon  Owen  went  with  her  to  the  railway  sta- 
tion, and  put  her  in  the  train  for  Carriford  Road,  the  station 
nearest  to  Knapwater  House. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  stepped  out  upon  the  platform,  and 
found  nobody  there  to  receive  her — though  a  pony -carriage 
was  waiting  outside.  In  two  minutes  she  saw  a  melancholy 
man  in  cheerful  livery  running  towards  her  from  a  public- 
house  close  adjoining,  who  proved  to  be  the  servant  sent  to 
fetch  her.  There  are  two  ways  of  getting  rid  of  sorrows : 
one  by  living  them  down,  the  other  by  drowning  them. 
The  coachman  drowned  his. 

He  informed  her  that  her  luggage  would  be  fetched  by  a 
spring  wagon  in  about  half  an  hour;  then  helped  her  into 
the  chaise  and  drove  off. 

Her  lover's  letter,  lying  close  against  her  neck,  fortified 
her  against  the  restless  timidity  she  had  previously  felt  con- 
cerning this  new  undertaking,  and  completely  furnished  her 
with  the  confident  ease  of  mind  which  is  required  for  the 
critical  observation  of  surrounding  objects.  It  was  just  that 
stage  in  the  slow  decline  of  the  summer  days,  when  the  deep, 
dark,  and  vacuous  hot-weather  shadows  are  beginning  to  be 
replaced  by  blue  ones  that  have  a  surface  and  substance  to 
the  eye.  They  trotted  along  the  turnpike  road  for  a  dis- 
tance of  about  a  mile,  which  brought  them  just  outside  the 
village  of  Carriford,  and  then  turned  through  large  lodge 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


57 


gates,  on  the  heavy  stone  piers  of  which  stood  a  pair  of  bit- 
terns cast  in  bronze.  They  then  entered  the  park  and  wound 
along  a  drive  shaded  by  old  and  drooping  lime-trees,  not 
arranged  in  the  form  of  an  avenue,  but  standing  irregularly, 
sometimes  leaving  the  track  completely  exposed  to  the  sky, 
at  other  times  casting  a  shade  over  it,  which  almost  ap- 
proached gloom — the  under  surface  of  the  lowest  boughs 
hanging  at  a  uniform  level  of  six  feet  above  the  grass — the 
extreme  height  to  which  the  nibbling  mouths  of  the  cattle 
could  reach. 

"Is, that  the  house?"  said  Cytherea,  expectantly,  catch- 
ing sight  of  a  gray  gable  between  the  trees,  and  losing  it 
again. 

"No;  that's  the  old-manor  house — or  rather  all  that's 
left  of  it.  The  Aldclyffes  used  to  let  it  sometimes,  but  it 
was  oftener  empty.  'Tis  now  divided  into  three  cottages. 
Respectable  people  didn't  care  to  live  there." 

"Why  didn't  they?" 

"Well,  'tis  so  awkward  and  unhandy.  You  see,  so  much 
of  it  has  been  pulled  down,  and  the  rooms  that  are  left  won't 
do  very  well  for  a  small  residence.  'Tis  so  dismal,  too,  and 
like  most  old  houses  stands  too  low  down  in  the  hollow  to  be 
healthy." 

"Do  they  tell  any  horrid  stories  about  it?" 

'•  No,  not  a  single  one." 

"  Ah,  that's  a  pity." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  say.  'Tis  just  the  house  for  a  nice 
ghastly  hair-on-end  story,  that  would  make  the  parish  relig- 
ious. Perhai>s  it  will  have  one  some  day  to  make  it  com- 
plete ;  but  there's  not  a  word  of  the  kind  now.  There,  I 
wouldn't  live  there  for  all  that.  In  fact,  I  couldn't.  Oh, 
no,  I  couldn't." 

"Why  couldn't  you?" 

"  The  sounds." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  One  is  the  waterfall,  which  stands  so  close  by,  that  you 
can  hear  that  there  waterfall  in  every  room   of  the  house,  • 
night  or  day,   ill  or  well.     'Tis  enough  to  drive   anybody 
mad ;  now  listen." 

He  stopped  the  horse.     Above  the  slight  common  sounds 
in  the  air  came  the  unvarying  steady  rush  of  falling  water 
8* 


58  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

from  some  spot  unseen  on  account  of  the  thick  foliage  of 
the  grove. 

^    "  There's  something  awful  in  the  regularity  of  that  sound, 
is  there  not,  Miss  ?" 

"  WL^n  you  say  there  is,  there  really  seems  to  be.  You 
said  there  were  two — what  is  the  other  horrid  sound?" 

"The  pumping  engine.  That's  close  by  the  Old  House, 
and  sends  water  up  the  hill  and  all  over  the  Great  House. 
We  shall  hear  that  directly  ....  There,  now  listen." 

From  the  same  direction  down  the  dell  they  could  now 
hear  the  whistling  creak  of  cranks,  repeated  at  intervals  of 
half  a  minute,  with  a  sousing  noise  between  each  ;  a  creak, 
a  souse,  then  another  creak,  and  so  on  continuallyi 

"  Now  if  anybody  could  make  shift  to  live  through  the 
other  sounds,  these  would  finish  him  off,  don't  you  think  so. 
Miss?  That  machine  goes  on  night  and  day,  summer  and 
winter,  and  is  hardly  ever  greased  or  visited.  Ah,  it  tries  the 
nerves  at  night,  especially  if  you  are  not  very  well ;  though 
we  don't  often  hear  it  at  the  Great  House." 

"  That  sound  is  certainly  very  dismal.  They  might  have 
t.he  wheel  greased.  Does  Miss  Aldclyflfe  take  any  interest 
in  these  things  ?  " 

"Well,  scarcely;  you  see  her  father  doesn't  attend  to  that 
sort  of  thing  as  he  used  to.  The  engine  was  once  quite  his 
hobby.  But  now  he's  getten  old  and  very  seldom  goes 
there." 

"  How  many  are  there  in  family  ?  " 

"  Only  her  father  and  herself.  He's  an  old  man  of 
seventy." 

"  I  had  thought  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  sole  mistress  of 
the  property,  and  lived  here  alone." 

"  No,  M — ."  The  coachman  was  continually  checking 
himself  thus,  being  about  to  style  her  Miss  involuntarily,  and 
then  recollecting  that  he  was  only  speaking  to  the  new 
lady's-maid. 

"  She  will  soon  be  mistress,  however,  I  am  afraid,"  he 
continued,  as  if  speaking  by  a  spirit  of  prophecy  denied  to 
ordinary  humanity.  "  The  poor  old  gentleman  has  decayed 
very  fast  lately."     The  man  then  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Why  did  you  breathe  sadly  like  that  ?"  said  Cyiherea. 

"  Ah  !  .  .  .  .     When   he's   dead  peace  will  be  all  over 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


59 


with  ns  old  servants.  I  expect  to  see  the  whole  house 
hirned  inside  out." 

"  She  will  marry,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Marry — not  she  !  I  wish  she  would.  No,  in  her  soul 
she's  as  solitary  as  Robinson  Crusoe,  though  she  has  ac- 
quaintances in  plenty,  if  not  relations.  There's  the  rector, 
Mr.  Raunham — he's  a  relation  by  marriage, — yet  she's 
quite  distant  towards  him.  And  people  say  that  if  she  keeps 
single  there  will  be  hardly  a  life  between  Mr.  Raunham  and 
the  heirship  of  the  estate.  Dang  it,  she  don't  care.  She's 
an  extraordinary  picture  of  womankind — very  extraordi- 
nary." 

"  In  what  way  besides  ?  " 

"You'll  know  soon  enough,  Miss.  She  has  had  seven 
lady's-maids  this  last  twelvemonth.  I  assure  you  'lis  one 
body's  work  to  fetch  'em  from  the  station  and  take  'em  back 
again.  The  Lord  must  be  a  Tory  at  heart,  or  he'd  never 
permit  such  overbearen  goings  on." 

"  Does  she  dismiss  them  directly  they  come  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all — she  never  dismisses  them — they  go  them- 
selves. You  see  'tis  like  this.  She's  got  a  very  quick  tem- 
per ;  she  flies  in  a  passion  with  them  for  nothing  at  all ;  next 
niornen  they  come  up  and  say  they  are  going ;  she's  sorry 
for  it  and  wishes  they'd  stay,  but  she's  as  proud  as  a  lucifer, 
and  her  pride  won't  let  her  say  'Stay,'  and  away  they  go. 
'Tis  like  this  in  fact.  If  you  say  to  her  about  anybody,  '  Ah, 
poor  thing ! '  she  says,  '  Pish  !  indeed  ! '  If  you  say,  *  Pish, 
indeed  ! '  '  Ah,  poor  thing  ! '  she  says  directly.  She  hangs 
the  chief  baker,  and  restores  the  chief  butler,  though  the 
devil  but  Pharaoh  herself  can  see  the  difference  between 
'em." 

Cytherea  was  silent.  She  feared  she  might  be  again  a 
burden  to  her  brother. 

"However,  you  stand  a  very  good  chance,"  the  man  went 
on  ;  "  for  I  think  she  likes  you  more  than  common.  I  have 
never  known  her  send  the  pony-carriage  to  meet  one  before  ; 
'tis  always  the  trap,  but  this  time  she  said,  in  a  very  particu- 
lar ladylike  tone,  '  Roobert,  gow  with  the  pony-kerriage.'  .  .  . 
There,  'tis  true,  pony  and  carriage  too  are  getten  rather 
shabby  now,"  he  added,  looking  round  upon  the  vehicle  as 
if  to  keep  Cytherea's  pride  withni  reasonable  limits. 


60  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  'Tis  to  be  hoped  you'll  please  in  dressen  her  to-night." 

"Why  to-night?" 

"  There's  a  dinner-party  of  seventeen  ;  'tis  her  father's 
birthday,  and  she's  very  particular  about  her  appearance  at 
such  times.  Now  look ;  this  is  the  house.  Livelier  up 
here,  isn't  it.  Miss?" 

They  were  now  on  rising  ground,  and  had  just  emerged 
from  a  clump  of  trees.  Still  a  little  higher  up  than  where 
they  stood  was  situated  the  mansion,  called  Knapwater 
House,  the  offices  gradually  losing  themselves  among  the 
trees  behind. 

§  2.  Evening. 

The  house  was  regularly  and  substantially  built  of  clean 
gray  freestone  throughout,  in  that  plainer  fashion  of  Greek 
classicism  that  prevailed  at  the  latter  end  of  the  last  century, 
when  the  copyists  called  designers  had  grown  weary  of  fan- 
tastic variations  in  the  Roman  orders.  The  main  block 
approximated  to  a  square  on  the  ground  plan,  having  a  pro- 
jection in  the  centre  of  each  side,  surmounted  by  a  pedi- 
ment. From  each  angle  of  the  east  side  ran  a  line  of  build- 
ings lower  than  the  rest,  turning  inwards  again  at  their 
farther  end  and  forming  within  them  a  spacious  open  court, 
within  which  resounded  an  echo  of  astonishing  clearness. 
These  erections  were  in  their  turn  backed  by  ivy-covered 
ice-houses,  laundries,  and  stables,  the  whole  mass  of  sub- 
sidiary buildings  being  half  buried  beneath  close-set  shrubs 
and  trees. 

There  was  opening  sufficient  through  the  foliage  on  the 
right  hand  to  enable  her  on  nearer  aj^proach  to  form  an 
idea  of  the  arrangement  of  the  remoter  or  south  front  also. 
The  natural  features  and  contour  of  this  quarter  of  the  site 
had  evidently  dictated  the  position  of  the  house  primarily, 
and  were  of  the  ordinary,  and  upon  the  whole,  most  satisfac- 
tory kind,  namely,  a  broad,  graceful  slope  running  from  the 
terrace  beneath  the  walls  to  the  margin  of  a  placid  lake  lying 
below,  upon  the  siirface  of  which  a  dozen  swans  and  a  green 
punt  floated  at  leisure.  An  irregular  wooded  island  stood 
in  the  midst  of  the  lake  ;  beyond  this  and  the  further  mar- 
gin of  the  water  were  plantations  and  greensward  of  varied 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  6 1 

outlines,  the  trees,  heightening,  by  half  veiling,  the  softness 
of  the  exquisite  landscape  stretching  behind. 

The  glimpses  she  had  obtained  of  this  portion  were  now 
chocked  by  the  angle  of  the  building.  In  a  minute  or  two 
they  reached  the  side  door,  at  which  Cytherea  alighted.  She 
was  welcomed  by  an  elderly  woman  of  lengthy  smiles  and 
general  pleasantness,  who  announced  herself  to  be  Mrs. 
Morris,  the  housekeeper. 

"  Mrs.  Graye,  1  believe  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  am  not — O  yes,  yes,  we  are  all  mistresses,"  said  Cy- 
therea, smiling,  but  forcedly.  The  title  accorded  her  seemed 
disagreeably  like  the  first  slight  scar  of  a  brand,  and  she 
thought  of  Owen's  prophecy. 

Mrs.  Morris  led  her  into  a  comfortable  parlor  called  The 
Room.  Here  tea  was  made  ready,  and  Cytherea  sat  down, 
looking  whenever  occasion  allowed,  at  Mrs.  Morris  with 
great  interest  and  curiosity  to  discover  if  possible,  something 
in  her  which  should  give  a  clue  to  the  secret  of  her  knowl- 
ledge  of  herself,  and  the  recommendation  based  upon  it. 
But  nothing  was  to  be  learnt,  at  any  rate  just  then.  Mrs. 
Morris  was  perpetually  getting  up,  feeling  in  her  pockets, 
going  to  cupboards,  leaving  the  room  for  two  or  three  min- 
utes, and  trotting  back  again. 

"  You'll  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Graye,"  she  said.  "But  'tis  the 
old  gentleman's  birthday,  and  they  always  have  a  lot  of  peo- 
ple to  dinner  on  that  day,  though  he's  getting  up  in  years 
now.  However,  none  of  them  are  sleepers — she  generally 
keeps  the  house  pretty  clear  of  lodgers  (being  a  lady  with 
no  intimate  friends,  though  many  acquaintances),  which, 
though  it  gives  us  less  to  do,  makes  it  all  the  duller  for  the 
younger  maids  in  the  house."  Mrs.  Morris  then  proceeded 
to  give  in  fragmentary  speeches  an  outline  of  the  constitu- 
tion and  government  of  the  estate. 

"  Now  are  you  sure  you  have  quite  done  tea?  Not  a  bit 
or  drop  more  ?  Why  you've  eaten  nothing,  I'm  sure.  ,  .  . 
Well,  now,  it  is  rather  inconvenient  that  the  other  maid  is 
not  here  to  show  you  the  ways  of  the  house  a  little,  but  she 
left  last  Saturday,  and  Miss  Aldclyffe  has  been  making  shift 
with  poor  old  clumsy  me  for  a  maid  all  yesterday  and  this  morn- 
ing. She  is  not  come  in  yet.  I  expect  she  will  ask  for  you, 
Mrs.  Graye,  the  first  thing I  was  going  to  say  thai 


62  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

if  you  have  really  done  tea,  I  will  take  you  up-stairs,  and 
show  you  through  the  wardrobes — Miss  Aldclyffe's  things 
are  not  laid  out  for  to-night  yet." 

She  preceded  Cytherea  upstairs,  pointed  out  her  own 
room,  and  then  took  her  into  Miss  Aldclyffe's  dressing-room, 
on  the  first  floor ;  where,  after  explaining  the  whereabouts 
of  various  articles  of  apparel,  the  housekeeper  left  her,  tell- 
ing her  that  she  had  an  hour  yet  upon  her  hands  before 
dressing  time.  Cytherea  laid  out  upon  the  bed  in  the  next 
room  all  that  she  had  been  told  would  be  required  that  even- 
ing, and  then  went  again  to  the  little  room  which  had  been 
appropriated  to  he'-self. 

Here  she  sat  down  by  the  open  window,  leant  out  upon 
the  sill  like  another  Blessed  Damozel,  and  listlessly  looked 
down  upon  the  brilliant  pattern  of  colors  formed  by  the 
flower-beds  on  the  lawn — now  richly  crowded  with  late  sum- 
mer blossom.  But  the  vivacity  of  spirit  which  had  hitherto 
enlivened  her,  was  fast  ebbing  under  the  pressure  of  prosaic 
realities,  and  the  warm  scarlet  of  the  geraniums,  glowing 
most  conspicuously,  and  mingling  with  the  vivid  cold  red 
and  green  of  the  verbenas,  the  rich  depth  of  the  dahlia,  and 
the  ripe  mellowness  of  the  calceolaria,  backed  by  the  pale 
hue  of  a  flock  of  meek  sheep,  feeding  in  the  open  park, 
close  to  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  were,  to  a  great  extent, 
lost  upon  her  eyes.  She  was  thinking  that  nothing  seemed 
worth  while  ;  that  it  was  possible  she  might  die  in  a  work- 
house;  and  what  did  it  matter  ?  The  petty,  vulgar  details 
of  servitude  that  she  had  just  passed  through,  her  depend- 
ence upon  the  whims  of  a  strange  woman,  the  necessity  of 
quenching  all  individuality  of  character  in  herself,  and  relin- 
quishing her  own  peculiar  tastes  to  help  on  the  wheel  of  this 
alien  establishment,  made  her  sick  and  sad,  and  she  almost 
longed  to  pursue  some  free,  out-of-doors  employment,  sleep 
under  trees  or  a  hut,  and  know  no  enemy  but  winter  and 
cold  weather,  like  shepherds  and  cowkeepers,  and  birds  and 
animals — ay,  like  the  sheep  she  saw  there  under  her  window. 
She  looked  sympathizingly  at  them  for  several  minutes, 
imagining  their  enjoyment  of  the  rich  grass. 

•'  Yes — like  those  sheep,"  she  said,  aloud  ;  and  her  face 
reddened  with  surprise  at  a  discovery  she  made  that  very 
instant. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES.  63 

The  flock  consisted  of  some  ninety  or  a  hundred  young 
stock  ewes  ;  the  surface  of  their  fleece  was  as  rounded  and 
even  as  a  cushion,  and  white  as  milk.  Now  she  had  just 
observed  that  on  the  left  buttock  of  every  one  of  them  were 
marked  in  distinct  red  letters  the  initials  "  E.  S." 

"  E.  S.,"  could  bring  to  Cytherea's  mind  only  one 
thought ;  but  that  immediately  and  forever — the  name  of 
her  lover,  Edward  Springrove. 

'•Oh,  if  it  should  be  ...  .  !"  She  interrupted  her  words 
by  a  resolve.  Miss  Aldclyffe's  carriage  at  the  same  moment 
made  its  appearance  in  the  drive  ;  but  Miss  Aldclyffe  was 
not  her  object  now.  It  was  to  ascertain  to  whom  the  sheep 
belonged,  and  to  set  her  surmise  at  rest  one  way  or  the 
other.     She  flew  downstairs  to  Mrs.  Morris. 

"  Whose  sheep  are  those  in  the  park,  Mrs.  Morris  ?  " 

"  Farmer  Springrove's." 

"  What  farmer  Springrove  is  that?"  she  said,  quickly. 

"Why,  surely  you  know?  Your  friend  Farmer  Spring- 
rove, the  cider  maker,  and  who  keeps  the  Three  Tranters 
Inn  ;  who  recommended  you  to  me  when  he  came  in  to  see 
me  the  other  day  ?  " 

Cytherea's  mother-wit  suddenly  warned  her  in  the  midst 
of  her  excitement  that  it  was  necessary  not  to  betray  the 
secret  of  her  love.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "of  course."  Her 
thoughts  had  run  as  follows  in  that  short  interval : — 

"Farmer  Springrove  is  Edward's  father,  and  his  name  is 
Edward,  too. 

"Edward  knew  I  was  going  to  advertise  for  a  situation  of 
some  kind. 

"  He  watched  the  Times,  and  saw  it,  my  address  being 
attached. 

"  He  thought  it  would  be  excellent  for  me  to  be  here 
that  we  might  meet  whenever  he  came  home. 

"  He  told  his  father  that  I  might  be  recommended  as  a 
lady's-maid  ;  that  he  knew  my  brother  and  myself. 

"  His  father  told  Mrs.  Morris ;  Mrs.  Morris  told  Miss 
Aldclyffe." 

The  whole  chain  of  incidents  that  drew  her  there  was 
plain,  and  there  was  no  such  thing  as  chance  in  the  matter. 
It  was  all  Edward's  doing. 


64  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  sound  of  a  bell  was  heard.  Cytherea  did  nor  heed 
it,  and  still  continued  in  her  reverie. 

*'  That's  Miss  Aldclyffe's  bell,"  said  Mrs.  Morris. 
"    "I  suppose  it  is,"  said  the  young  woman  placidly.' 

"  Well,  it  means  that  you  must  go  up  to  her,"  the  matron 
continued,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

Cytherea  felt  a  burning  heat  come  over  her,  mingled  with 
a  sudden  irritation  at  Mrs.  Morris's  hint.  But  the  good 
sense  which  had  recognized  stern  necessity  prevailed  over 
rebellious  independence;  the  flush  passed,  and  she  said, 
hastily. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  of  course,  I  must  go  to  her  when  she  pulls  the 
bell — whether  I  want  to  or  no." 

However,  in  spite  of  this  painful  reminder  of  her  new  po- 
sition in  life,  Cytherea  left  the  apartment  in  a  mood  far 
different  from  the  gloomy  sadness  of  ten  minutes  previous. 
The  |)lace  felt  like  home  to  her  now  ;  she  did  not  mind  the 
jjettiness  of  her  occupation,  because  Edward  evidently  did 
not  mind  it ;  and  this  was  Edward's  own  spot.  She  found 
tinie  on  her  way  to  Miss  Aldclyffe's  dressing-room  to  hur- 
riedly glide  out  by  a  side  door,  and  look  for  a  moment  at 
the  unconscious  sheep  bearing  the  friendly  initials.  She 
went  up  to  them  to  try  to  touch  one  of  the  flock,  and  felt 
vexed  that  they  all  stared  sceptically  at  her  kind  advances 
and  then  ran  pell-mell  down  the  hill.  Then,  fearing  any- 
one should  discover  her  childish  movements,  she  slipped  in- 
doors again,  and  ascended  the  staircase,  catching  glimpses, 
as  she  passed,  of  silver-buttoned  footmen,  who  flashed  about 
the  passages  like  lightning. 

Miss  Aldclyffe's  dressing-room  was  an  apartment  which, 
on  a  casual  survey,  conveyed  an  impression  that  it  was 
available  for  almost  any  purpose  save  the  adornment  of  the 
feminine  person.  In  its  hours  of  perfect  order  nothing  per- 
taining to  the  toilet  was  visible  ;  even  the  inevitable  mirrors 
with  their  accessories  were  arranged  in  a  roomy  recess  not 
noticeable  from  the  door,  lighted  by  a  window  of  its  own, 
called  the  dressing  window. 

The  washing-stand  figured  as  a  vast  oak  chest,  carved 
with  grotesque  Renaissance  ornament.  The  dressing-table 
was  in  appearance  something  between  a  high  altar  and  a 
cabinet  piano,  the  surface  being  richly  worked  in  the  5an3e 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES.  65 

Style  of  semi-classic  decoration,  but  the  extraordinary  out- 
line having  been  arrived  at  by  Mr.  James  Sparknian,  an  in- 
genious joiner  and  decorator  from  the  neighboring  town, 
after  months  of  painful  toil  in  cutting  and  fitting,  under  Miss 
Aldclyfife's  immediate  eye,  the  materials  being  the  remains 
of  two  or  three  old  cabinets  the  lady  had  found  in  the  lum- 
ber room.  About  two-thirds  of  the  floor  was  carpeted,  the 
remaining  portion  being  laid  with  parquetry  of  light  and 
dark  woods. 

Miss  AldclyfFe  was  standing  at  the  larger  window,  away 
from  the  dressing-niche.  She  bowed  and  said  pleasantly, 
"  1  am  glad  you  have  come.  We  shall  get  on  capitally,  I 
dare  say." 

Her  bonnet  was  off.  Cytherea  did  not  think  her  so 
handsome  as  on  the  earlier  day ;  the  queenliness  of  her 
beauty  was  harder  and  less  warm.  But  a  worse  discovery 
than  this  was  that  Miss  Aldclyfife,  with  the  usual  oblivious- 
ness of  rich  people  to  their  dependants'  specialities,  seemed 
to  have  quite  forgotten  Cytherea's  inexperience,  and  me- 
chanically delivered  up  her  body  to  her  handmaid  without  a 
thought  of  details,  and  with  a  mild  yawn. 

Everything  went  well  at  first.  The  dress  was  removed, 
stockings  and  black  boots  were  taken  off,  and  silk  stockings 
and  white  shoes  were  put  on.  Miss  Aldclyffe  then  retired 
to  bathe  her  hands  and  face,  and  Cytherea  drew  breath.  If 
she  could  get  through  this  first  evening,  all  would  be  right. 
She  felt  that  it  was  unfortunate  that  such  a  crucial  test  for 
her  ])owers  as  a  birthday  dinner  should  have  been  applied 
on  the  threshold  of  her  arrival,  but  liimporte. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  now  arrayed  in  a  white  dressing-gown, 
and  dropped  languidly  into  an  easy-chair,  pushed  up  before 
the  glass.  The  instincts  of  her  sex  and  her  own  j^ractice 
told  Cytherea  the  next  movement.  She  let  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
hair  fall  down  about  her  shoulders,  and  began  to  arrange  it. 
It  i)roved  to  be  all  real ;  a  satisfaction. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  musingly  looking  on  the  floor,  and  the 
operation  went  on  for  some  minutes  in  silence.  At  length 
her  thoughts  seemed  to  return  t^  the  present,  and  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  the  glass. 

"  VVhy,  what  on  earth  are  you  doing  with  my  head  ?"  she 
exclaimed,  with  widely  opened  eyes.     At  the  words  she  fel/ 


(56  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

the  back  of  Cytherea's  little  hand  tremble  against  her 
neck. 

"  Perhaps  you  prefer  it  done  the  other  fashion,  madam  ?  *' 
said  the  n)aiden. 

"No,  no  ;  that's  the  fashion  right  enough,  but  you  must 
make  more  show  of  my  hair  than  that,  or  I  shall  have  to 
buy  some,  which  God  forbid  ! " 

"It  is  how  I  do  my  own,"  said  Cytherea,  naively,  and 
with  a  sweetness  of  tone  that  would  have  pleased  the  most 
acrimonious  under  favorable  circumstances  ;  but  tyranny 
was  in  the  ascendant  with  Miss  Aldclyffe  at  this  moment,  and 
she  was  assured  of  palatable  food  for  her  vice  by  having  felt 
the  trembling  of  Cytherea's  hand. 

"  Yours,  indeed  !    Your  hair  !  come,  go  on." 

Considering  that  Cytherea  possessed  at  least  five  times  as 
much  of  that  valuable  auxiliary  to  woman's  beauty  as  the 
lady  before  her,  there  was  at  the  same  time  some  excuse  for 
Miss  AldclyfTe's  outburst.  She  remembered  herself,  how- 
ever, and  said  more  quietly,  "  Now  then,  Graye By 

the  bye,  what  do  they  call  you  downstairs  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Graye,"  said  the  handmaid. 

"  Then,  tell  them  not  to  do  any  such  absurd  thing — not 
but  tJiat  it  is  quite  according  to  usage  ;  but  you  are  too 
young  yet." 

This  dialogue  tided  Cytherea  safely  onward  through  the 
hairdressing  till  the  flowers  and  diamonds  were  to  be  placed 
upon  the  lady's  brow.  Cytherea  began  arranging  them 
tastefully,  and  to  the  very  best  of  her  judgment. 

"That  won't  do,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  harshly. 

"Why?" 

"  I  look  too  young — an  old  dressed  doll." 

"  Will  that,  madam  ?  " 

"  No.     I  look  a  fright — a  perfect  fright !  " 

"  This  way,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Heavens  !  Don't  worry  me  so."  She  shut  her  lips  like 
a  trap. 

Having  once  worked  herself  up  to  the  belief  that  her 
head-dress  was  to  be  a  failure  that  evening,  no  cleverness  of 
Cytherea's  in  arranging  it  could  please  her.  She  continued 
in  a  smouldering  passion  during  the  remainder  of  the  perform- 
ance, keeping  her  lips  firmly  closed,  and  the  muscles  of  hei 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES.  ■  6/ 

body  rigid.  Finally,  snatching  up  her  gloves,  and  taking  her 
handkerchief  and  fan  in  her  hand,  she  sihintly  sailed  out  of  the 
room,  without  betraying  the  least  consciousness  of  another 
woman's  presence  behind  her. 

Cytherea's  fears  that  at  the  undressing  this  suppressed 
anger  would  find  a  vent,  kept  her  on  thorns  throughout  the 
evening.  She  tried  to  read  ;  she  could  not.  She  tried  to 
sew;  she  could  not.  She  tried  to  muse;  she  could  not  do 
that  connectedly.  "  If  this  is  the  beginning,  what  will  the 
end  be ! "  she  said  in  a  whisper,  and  felt  many  misgivings  as 
to  the  policy  of  being  over-hasty  in  establishing  an  indepen- 
dence at  the  expense  of  congruity  with  a  cherished  past. 


§  3.  Midnight. 

The  sole  object  of  this  narration  being  to  present  in  a 
regular  series  the  several  episodes  and  incidents  which  di- 
rectly helped  forward  the  end,  and  only  these,  every  contig- 
uous scene  without  this  qualification  is  necessarily  passed 
over,  and  as  one,  the  Aldclyffe  state  dinner. 

The  clock  struck  twelve.  The  company  had  all  gone, 
and  Miss  Aldclytfe's  bell  rang  loudly  and  jerkingly. 

Cytherea  started  to  her  feet  at  the  sound,  which  broke  in 
upon  a  fitful  sleep  that  had  overtaken  her.  She  had  been 
sitting  drearily  in  her  chair  waiting  minute  after  minute  for 
the  signal,  her  brain  in  that  state  of  intentness  which 
takes  cognizance  of  the  passage  of  Time  as  a  real  motion — 
motion  without  matter — the  instants  throbbing  past  in  the 
company  of  a  feverish  pulse.  She  hastened  to  the  room,  to 
find  the  lady  sitting  before  the  dressing  shrine,  illuminated 
on  both  sides,  and  looking  so  queenly  in  her  attitude  of  ab- 
solute repose,  that  the  younger  woman  felt  the  awfuUest  sense 
of  responsibility  at  her  Vandalism  in  having  undertaken  to 
demolish  so  imposing  a  pile. 

The  lady's  jewelled  ornaments  were  taken  off  in  silence — • 
some  by  her  own  listless  hands,  some  by  Cytherea's.  Then 
followed  the  outer  stratum  of  clothing.  The  dress  being  re- 
moved, Cytherea  took  it  in  her  hand  and  went  with  it  into 
the  bedroom  adjoining,  intending  to  hang  it  in  the  wardrobe. 
But  o\\  second  thoughts,  in  order  that  she  might  not  keep 


68  ■  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Miss  Aklclyffe  waiting  a  moment  longer  than  necessary, 
she  flung  it  down  on  the  first  resting-place  that  came  to 
hand,  which  happened  to  be  the  bed,  and  re-entered  the 
dressing-room  with  the  noiseless  footfall  of  a  kitten.  She 
paused  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

She  was  unnoticed,  and  her  sudden  return  had  plainly  not 
been  expected.  During  the  short  time  of  Cytherea's  ab- 
sence, Miss  Aldclyffe  had  pulled  off  a  kind  of  chemisette  of 
Brussels  net,  drawn  high  above  the  throat,  which  she  had 
worn  with  her  evening  dress  as  a  semi-opaque  covering  to 
her  shoulders,  and  in  its  place  had  put  her  night-dress  round 
her.  Her  right  hand  was  lifted  to  her  neck,  as  if  engaged 
in  fastening  her  night-dress. 

But  on  a  second  glance  Miss  Aldclyffe' s  proceeding  was 
clearer  to  Cytherea.  She  was  not  fastening  her  night-dress  ; 
it  had  been  carelessly  thrown  round  her,  and  Miss  Aldclyffe 
was  really  occupied  in  holding  up  to  her  eyes  some  small 
object  that  she  was  keenly  scrutinizing.  And  now  on  sud- 
denly discovering  the  presence  of  Cytherea  at  the  back  of 
the  apartment,  instead  of  naturally  continuing  or  concluding 
her  inspection,  she  desisted  hurriedly ;  the  tiny  snap  of  a 
spring  was  heard,  her  hand  was  removed,  and  she  began  ad- 
justing her  robes. 

Modesty  might  have  directed  her  hasty  action  of  en- 
wrapi)ing  her  shoulders,  but  it  was  scarcely  likely,  consider- 
ing Miss  Aldclyffe's  temperament,  that  she  had  all  her  life 
been  used  to  a  maid,  Cytherea's  youth,  and  the  elder  lady's 
marked  treatment  of  her  as  if  she  were  a.  mere  child  or  play- 
thing. The  matter  was  too  slight  to  reason  about,  and  yet 
upon  the  whole  it  seemed  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  must  have  a 
practical  reason  for  concealing  her  neck. 

With  a  timid  sense  of  being  an  intruder  Cytherea  was 
about  to  step  back  and  out  of  the  room;  but  at  the  same 
moment  Miss  Aldclyffe  turned,  saw  the  impulse,  and  told 
her  companion  to  stay,  looking  into  her  eyes  as  if  she  had 
half  an  intention  to  explain  something.  Cytherea  felt  cer- 
tain it  was  the  little  mystery  of  her  late  movements.  The 
Jady  withdrew  her  eyes ;  Cytherea  went  to  fetch  the 
dressing-gown,  and  wheeled  round  again  to  bring  it  up  to 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  who  had  now  partly  removed  her  night-dress 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  6g 

to  put  it  on  the  proper  way,  and  still  sat  with  her  back  to- 
wards Cytherea. 

Her  neck  was  again  quite  open  and  uncovered,  and 
though  hidden  from  the  direct  line  of  Cytherea's  vision,  she 
caw  it  reflected  in  the  glass — the  fair  white  surface  and  the 
inimitable  combination  of  curves  between  throat  and  bosom 
which  artists  adore  being  brightly  lit  up  by  the  light  burning 
on  either  side. 

And  the  lady's  prior  proceedings  were  noAV  explained  in 
the  simplest  manner.  In  the  midst  of  her  breast,  like  an 
island  in  a  sea  of  pearl,  reclined  an  exquisite  little  gold  locket, 
embellished  with  arabesque  work  of  blue,  red,  and  white 
enamel.  That  was  undoubtedly  what  Miss  Aldclyffe  had 
been  contemplating,  and,  moreover,  not  having  been  put  oft' 
with  her  other  ornaments,  it  was  to  be  retained  during  the 
night — a  slight  departure  from  the  custom  of  ladies  which 
Miss  Aldclyffe  had  at  first  not  cared  to  exhibit  to  her  new 
assistant,  though  now,  on  farther  thought,  she  seemed  to 
have  become  indifferent  on  the  matter. 

"  My  dressing-gown,"  she  said,  quietly,  fastening  her  night- 
dress as  she  spoke. 

Cytherea  came  forward  with  it.  Miss  Aldclyflfe  did  not 
turn  her  head,  but  looked  inquiringly  at  her  maid  in  the 
glass. 

"  You  saw  what  I  wear  on  my  neck,  I  suppose  ? "  she 
said  to  Cytherea's  reflected  face. 

"Yes,  madam,  I  did,"  said  Cytherea  to  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
reflected  face. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  again  looked  at  Cytherea's  reflection  as  if 
she  were  on  the  point  of  explaining.  Again  she  checked 
her  resolve  and  said  lightly  : 

"  Few  of  my  maids  discover  that  I  wear  it  always.  I 
generally  keep  it  a  secret — not  that  it  matters  much.  But 
I  was  careless  with  you,  and  seemed  to  want  to  tell  you. 
You  win  me  to  make  confidences  that " 

She  ceased,  took  Cytherea's  hand  in  her  own,  lifted  the 
locket  with  the  other,  touched  the  spring  and  disclosed  a 
miniature. 

"  It  is  a  handsome  face,  is  it  lot  ?  "  she  whispered,  mourn" 
fully,  and  even  timidly. 

"  It  is." 


70  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

But  the  sight  had  gone  through  Cytherea  Hke  an  electric 
shock,  and  there  was  an  instantaneous  awakening  of  per- 
ception in  her,  so  thrilHng  in  its  presence  as  to  be  well-nigh 
insupportable.  The  face  in  the  miniature  was  the  face,  of 
Jiei^ovvn  father — younger  and  fresher  than  she  had  ever 
known  him — but  her  father  ! 

Was  this  the  woman  of  his  wild  and  unquenchable  early 
love  ?  And  was  this  the  woman  who  had  figured  in  the  gate- 
man's  story  as  answering  the  name  of  Cytherea  before  her 
judgment  was  awake  ?  Surely  it  was.  And  if  so,  here  was 
the  tangible  outcrop  of  a  romantic  and  hidden  stratum  of  the 
past  hitherto  seen  only  in  her  imagination  ;  but  as  far  as  her 
scope  allowed,  clearly  defined  therein  by  reason  of  its 
strangeness. 

Miss  Aldclyffe's  eyes  and  thoughts  were  so  intent  upon 
the  miniature  that  she  had  not  been  conscious  of  Cytherea's 
start  of  surprise.  She  went  on  speaking  in  a  low  and  ab- 
stracted tone  : 

"  Yes,  I  lost  him."  She  interrupted  her  words  by  a  shoi  t 
meditation,  and  went  on  again.  "  1  lost  him  by  excess  of 
honesty  as  regarded  my  past.     But  it  was  best  that  it  should 

be  so I  was  led  to  think  rather  more  than  usual 

of  the  circumstances  to-night  because  of  your  name.     It  is 
pronounced  the  same  way,  though  differently  spelt." 

The  only  means  by  which  Cytherea's  surname  could  have 
been  spelt  to  Miss  Aldclyffe  must  have  been  by  Mrs.  Morris 
or  Farmer  Springrove.  She  fancied  Farmer  Springrovc 
would  have  spelt  it  properly  if  Edward  was  his  informant 
which  made  Miss  Aldclyffe's  remark  obscure. 

Women  make  confidences  and  then  regret  them. 

The  impulsive  rush  of  feeling  which  had  led  Miss  Aldclyffe 
to  indulge  in  this  revelation,  trifling  as  it  was,  died  out  im- 
mediately her  words  were  beyond  recall ;  and  the  turmoil, 
occasioned  in  her  by  dwelling  upon  that  chapter  of  her  life, 
found  vent  in  another  kind  of  emotion — the  result  of  a  trivial 
accident. 

Cytherea,  after  letting  down  Miss  Aldclyffe's  hair,  adopted 
some  plan  with  it  to  which  the  lady  had  not  been  accus- 
tomed. A  rapid  revulsion  to  irritation  ensued.  The  maid- 
en's mere  touch  seemed  to  discharge  the  pent-up  regret  of 
the  lady  as  if  she  had  been  a  jar  of  electricity. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


71 


"  Hov/  strangely  you  treat  my  hair  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

A  silence. 

"  I  have  told  you  what  I  never  tell  my  maids  as  a  rule  ; 
of  course  nothing  that  I  say  in  this  room  is  to  be  mentioned 
outside  it."     She  spoke  crossly  no  less  than  emphatically. 

"It  shall  not  be,  madam,"  said  Cytherea,  agitated  and 
vexed  that  the  woman  of  her  romantic  wonderings  should  be 
so  disagreeable  to  her. 

"  Why  on  earth  did  I  tell  you  of  my  love  ? "  she  went 
on. 

Cytherea  made  no  answer, 

'^he  lady's  vexation  with  herself,  and  the  accident  which 
had  led  to  the  disclosure  swelled  little  by  little  till  it  knew 
no  bounds.  But  what  was  done  could  not  be  undone,  and 
though  Cytherea  had  shown  a  most  winning  responsiveness, 
quarrel  Miss  Aldclyffe  must.  She  recurred  to  the  subject  of 
Cytherea's  want  of  expertness,  like  a  bitter  reviewer,  who 
finding  the  sentiments  of  a  poet  unimpeachable,  quarrels  with 
his  rhymes. 

"  Never,  never  before  did  I  serve  myself  such  a  trick  as 
this  in  engaging  a  maid."  She  waited  for  an  expostulation  : 
none  came.     Miss  Aldclyife  tried  again. 

*'  The  idea  of  my  taking  a  girl  without  asking  her  more 
than  three  questions,  or  having  a  single  reference,  all  because 

of  her  good  1 ,  the  shape  of  her  face  and  body  !     \X.%vas  a 

fool's  trick.     There,  I  am  served  right — quite  right,  by  being 
deceived  in  such  a  way." 

"  I  didn't  deceive  you,"  said  Cytherea.  The  speech  was 
an  unfortunate  one,  and  was  the  very  "fuel  to  maintain  its 
fires"   that  the  other's  petulance  desired. 

"  You  did,"  she  said,  hotly. 

"1  told  you  I  couldn't  promise  to  be  acquainted  with 
every  detail  of  routine  just  at  first." 

"VVillyou  contradict  me  in  this  way!  You  are  telling 
untruths,  I  say." 

Cytherea's  lip  quivered.  "I  would  answer  that  remark 
if— if— ." 

"If  what?" 

"If  it  were  a  lady's!  " 

"  You  girl  of  impudence — what  do  you  say  ?  Leave  the 
room  (his  instant,  I  tell  you." 


72 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


"  And  I  tell  you  that  a  person  who  speaks  to  a  lady  as 
you  do  to  me,  is  no  lady  herself! " 

"To  a  lady?  A  lady's-maid  speaks  in  this  way.  The 
idea  ! " 

"Don't  'lady's-maid'  me:  nobody  is  my  mistress.  I 
won't  have  it  !  " 

"Good  Heavens!" 

"I  wouldn't  have  come — No — I  wouldn't!  if  I  had 
known  ! " 

"  What  ?  " 

"That  you  were  such  an  ill-tempered  unjust  woman  !  " 

Possessed  beyond  the  Muse's  painting,  Miss  Aldclyfife  ex- 
claimed,— 

"  A  VVoman,  am  I  !  I'll  teach  you  if  I  am  a  Woman  ! " 
and  lifted  her  hand  as  if  she  would  have  liked  to  strike  her 
companion.     This  stung  the  maiden  into  absolute  defiance. 

"  I  dare  you  to  touch  me  ! "  she  cried.  "  Strike  me  if 
you  dare,  madam  !  I  am  not  afraid  of  yoti — what  do  you 
mean  by  such  an  action  as  that !  " 

Miss  Aldclyfife  was  disconcerted  at  this  unexpected  show 
of  spirit,  and  ashamed  of  her  unladylike  imjiulse  now  it  was 
put  into  words.  She  sank  back  in  the  chair.  "  I  was  not 
going  to  strike  you — go  to  your  room — I  beg  you  to  go  to 
your  room,"  she  repeated  in  a  husky  whisper. 

Cytherea,  red  and  panting,  took  up  her  candlestick  and 
advanced  to  the  table  to  get  a  light.  Standing  close  to  them 
the  rays  from  the  candles  struck  sharply  on  her  face.  She 
usually  bore  a  much  stronger  likeness  to  her  mother  than  to 
her  father,  but  now,  looking  with  a  grave,  reckless,  and  an- 
gered ex])ression  of  countenance  at  the  kindling  wick  as  she 
held  it  slanting  into  the  other  flame,  her  father's  features 
were  distinct  in  her.  It  was  the  first  time  Miss  Aldclyffe  had 
seen  her  in  a  passionate  mood,  and  wearing  that  expression 
which  was  invariably  its  concomitant.  It  was  Miss  Ald- 
clyfife's  turn  to  start  now;  and  the  remark  she  made  was  an 
instance  of  that  sudden  change  of  tone  from  high-flown  in- 
vective to  the  pettiness  of  curiosity  which  so  of"ten  makes 
women's  quarrels  ridiculous.  Even  Miss  Aldclyfife's  dignity 
had  not  suflScient  power  to  postjjone  the  absorbing  desire 
she  now  felt  to  settle  the  strange  suspicion  that  had  entered 
her  head. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  73 

*'  You  Sjiell  your  name  the  coniuion  way,  G,  R,  E,  Y, 
don't  you?"  she  said  with  assumed  indifference. 

"  No,"  said  Cytherea,  poised  on  the  side  of  her  foot,  and 
still  looking  into  the  flame. 

"Yes,  surely?  The  name  was  spelt  that  way  on  your 
boxes  ;  I  looked  and  saw  it  myself." 

The  enigma  of  Miss  Aldclyffe's  mistake  was  solved.  "  O 
was  it?"  said  Cytherea.  "Ah  I  remember  Mrs.  Jackson, 
the  lodging-house  keeper  at  Creston,  labelled  them.  We 
spell  our  name  G,  R,  A,  Y,  E." 

"  What  was  your  father's  trade  ?" 

Cytherea  thought  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  to  con- 
ceal facts  any  longer.  "  He  was  not  a  trade,"  she  said. 
"  lie  was  an  architect." 

"  The  idea  of  your  being  an  architect's  daughter  !  " 

"  There's  nothing  to  offend  you  in  that,  I  hope  ?" 

"  O  no." 

"  Why  did  you  say  '  the  idea '  ?  " 

"  Leave  that  alone.  Did  he  ever  visit  in  Govver  Street 
one  Christmas,  many  years  ago  ? — but  you  would  not  know 
that." 

"  I  have  heard  him  say  that  Mr.  Huntway,  a  curate  some- 
where in  that  part  of  London,  and  who  died  there,  was  an 
old  college  friend  of  his." 

"  What  is  your  Christian  name  ?  " 

"  Cytherea." 

"No!  And  is  it  really  ?  And  you  knew  that  face  I  showed 
you?  Yes,  I  see  you  did."  Miss  Aldclyffe  stopped,  and 
closed  her  lips  impassibly.     She  was  a  little  agitated. 

"  Do  you  want  me  any  longer  ?  "  said  Cytherea,  standing 
candle  in  hand  and  looking  quietly  in  Miss  Aldclyffe's  face. 

"  Well — no  :  no  longer,"  said  the  lady,  lingeringly. 

"  With  your  jjermission,  1  will  leave  the  house  to-morrow 
morning,  madam." 

"  Ah."  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  no  notion  of  what  she  was 
saying. 

"And  I  know  you  will  be  so  good  as  not  to  intrude  upon 
rae  during  the  short  remainder  of  my  stay  ?  " 

Saying  this  Cytherea  left  the  room  before  her  companion 
had  answered.  Miss  Aldclyffe,  then,  had  recognized  her  at 
last,  and  had  been  curious  about  her  name  from  the  beginning. 
4 


74  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  other  members  of  the  household  had  retired  to  rest. 
As  Cytherea  went  along  the  passage  leading  to  her  room  her 
dress  rustled  against  the  partition.  A  door  on  her  left  opened, 
and  Mrs.  Morris  looked  out. 

"  I  waited  out  of  bed  till  you  came  up,"  she  said,  "  it  be- 
ing your  first  night,  in  case  you  should  be  at  a  loss  for  any- 
thing.    How  have  you  got  on  with  Miss  Aldclyffe  1 " 

"  Pretty  well — though  not  so  well  as  I  could  have  wished." 

"  Has  she  been  scolding  ?  " 

"A  little." 

"She's  a  very  odd  lady — 'tis  all  one  way  or  the  other  with 
her.  She's  not  bad  at  heart,  but  unbearable  in  close  quar- 
ters. Those  of  us  who  don't  have  much  to  do  with  her  per- 
sonally, slay  on  for  years  and  years." 

"Has  Miss  Aldclyffe's  family  always  been  rich?"  said 
Cytherea. 

"  O  no.  The  property,  with  the  name,  came  from  her 
mother's  uncle.  Her  family  is  a  branch  of  the  old  AldclyfTe 
family  on  the  maternal  side.  Her  mother  married  a  Brad- 
leigh — a  mere  nobody  at  that  time — and  was  on  that  account 
cut  by  her  relations.  But  very  singularly  the  other  branch 
of  the  family  died  out  one  by  one — three  of  them,  and  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  great  uncle  then  left  all  his  property,  including 
this  estate,  to  Captain  Bradleigh  and  his  wife — Miss  Ald- 
clyffe's father  and  mother — on  condition  that  they  took  the 
old  family  name  as  well.  There's  all  about  it  in  the  Landed 
Gentry.     'Tis  a  thing  very  often  done." 

"  O,  I  see.  Thank  you.  Well,  now  I  am  going.  Goo<J 
night." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  EVENTS   OF  TWELVE  HOURS. 
§  I.  August  the  ninth.      One  to  two  o'clock^  a.m. 

CYTHEREA  entered  her  bedroom,  and  flung  herself  on 
the  bed,  bewildered  by  a  whirl  of  thought.  Only  one 
subject  was  clear  in  her  mind,  and  it  was  that  in  spite  of 
family  discoveries,  that  day  was  to  be  the  first  and  last  of  her 
experience  as  a  lady's-maid.  Starvation  itself  should  not 
compel  her  to  hold  such  a  humiliating  post  for  another  in- 
stant. "  Ah,"  she  thought,  with  a  sigh,  at  the  martyrdom  of 
her  last  little  fragment  of  self-conceit,  "  Owen  knows  every- 
thing better  than  I." 

She  jumped  up  and  began  making  ready  for  her  departure 
in  the  morning,  the  tears  streaming  down  when  she  grieved 
and  wondered  what  practical  matter  on  earth  she  could  turn 
her  hand  to  next.  All  these  preparations  completed,  she 
began  to  undress,  her  mind  unconsciously  drifting  away  to 
the  contemplation  of  her  late  surprises.  To  look  in  the  glass 
for  an  instant  at  the  reflection  of  her  own  magnificent  re- 
sources in  face  and  bosom,  and  to  mark  their  attractiveness 
unadorned,  was  perhaps  but  the  natural  action  of  a  young 
woman  who  had  so  lately  been  chidden  whilst  passing  through 
the  harassing  experience  of  decorating  an  older  beauty  of 
Miss  Aldclyft'e's  temper. 

But  she  directly  checked  her  weakness  by  sympathizing 
reflections  on  the  hidden  troubles  which  must  have  thronged 
the  past  years  of  the  solitary  lady,  to  keep  her,  though  so 
rich  and  courted,  in  a  mood  so  rej^ellent  and  gloomy  as  that 
in  which  Cytheiea  found  her  ;  and  then  the  young  girl  mar- 
velled again  and  again,  as  she  had  marvelled  before,  at  the 
strange  confluence  of  circumstances  which  had  brought  her- 
self into  contact  with  the  one  woman  in  the  world  whose 


•j^  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

history  was  so  romantically  intertwined  with  her  own.  She 
ahuost  began  to  wish  she  were  not  obHged  to  go  away  and 
leave  the  lonely  being  to  loneliness  still. 

In  bed  and  in  the  dark,  Miss  AldcHffe  haunted  her  mind 
more  persistently  than  ever.  Instead  of  sleeping,  she  called 
up  staring  visions  of  the  possible  past  of  this  queenly  lady,  her 
mother's  rival.  Up  the  long  vista  of  by-gone  years  she  saw, 
behind  all,  the  young  girl's  flirtation,  little  or  much,  with  the 
cousin,  that  seemed  to  have  been  nipped  in  the  bud,  or  to 
have  terminated  hastily  in  some  way.  Then  the  secret 
meetings  between  Miss  Aldclyfife  and  the  other  woman  at 
the  little  inn  at  Hammersmith  and  other  places  :  the  com- 
monplace sobriquet  she  adopted  :  her  swoon  at  some  pain- 
ful news,  and  the  very  slight  knowledge  the  elder  female  had 
of  her  partner  in  mystery.  Then,  more  than  a  year  after- 
wards, the  acquaintanceship  of  her  own  father  with  this  his 
first  love ;  the  awakening  of  the  passion,  his  acts  of  devo- 
tion, the  unreasoning  heat  of  his  rapture,  her  tacit  accept- 
ance of  it,  and  yet  her  uneasiness  under  the  delight.  Then 
his  declaration  amid  the  evergreens  :  the  utter  change  pro- 
duced in  her  manner  thereby,  seemingly  the  result  of  a  rigid 
determination  :  and  the  total  concealment  of  her  reason  by 
herself  and  her  parents,  whatever  it  was.  Then  the  lady's 
course  dropped  into  darkness,  and  nothing  more  was  visible 
till  she  was  discovered  here  at  Knapwater,  nearly  fifty  years 
old,  still  unmarried  and  still  beautiful,  but  lonely,  embittered, 
and  haughty.  Cylherea  imagined  that  her  father's  image  was 
still  warmly  cherished  in  Miss  Aldclyffe's  heart,  and  was 
thankful  that  she  herself  had  not  been  betrayed  into  announc- 
ing that  she  knew  many  particulars  of  this  page  of  her 
father's  history,  and  the  chief  one,  the  lady's  unaccountable 
renunciation  of  him.  It  would  have  made  her  bearing  towards 
the  mistress  of  the  mansion  more  awkward,  and  would  have 
been  no  benefit  to  either. 

Thus  conjuring  up  the  past,  and  theorizing  on  the  present, 
she  lay  restless,  changing  her  posture  from  one  side  to  the 
other  and  back  again.  Finally,  when  courting  sleep  with 
all  her  art,  she  heard  a  clock  strike  two.  A  minute  later, 
and  she  fancied  she  could  distinguish  a  soft  rustle  in  the  pas- 
sage outside  her  room. 

To  bury  her  head  in  the  sheets  was  her  first  impulse  ; 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 


77 


then  to  uncover  it,  raise  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  stretch 
her  eyes  wide  open  in  the  darkness  ;  her  lips  being  parted 
with  the  intentness  of  her  listening.  Whatever  the  noise 
was,  it  had  ceased  for  the  time. 

It  began  again,  and  came  close  to  her  door,  lightly  touch- 
ing the  panels.  Then  there  was  another  stillness  ;  Cytlierea 
made  a  movement  which  caused  a  faint  rustling  of  the  bed- 
clothes. 

Before  she  had  time  to  think  another  thought  a  light  tap 
was  given.  Cytherea  breathed  :  the  person  outside  was 
evidently  bent  upon  finding  her  awake,  and  the  rustle  she  had 
made  had  encouraged  the  hope.  The  maiden's  physical 
condition  shifted  from  one  pole  to  its  opposite.  The  cold 
sweat  of  terror  forsook  her,  and  modesty  took  the  alarm. 
She  became  hot  and  red  ;  her  door  was  not  locked. 

A  distinct  woman's  whisper  came  to  her  through  the 
keyhole  :  "  Cytherea  ! " 

Only  one  being  in  the  house  knew  her  Christian  name, 
and  that  was  Miss  Aldclyffe.  Cytherea  stepped  out  of  bed, 
went  to  the  door,  and  whispered  back,  "Yes  ?" 

"  Let  me  come  in,  darling." 

The  young  woman  paused  in  a  conflict  between  judgment 
and  emotion.  It  was  now  mistress  and  maid  no  longer ; 
woman  and  woman  only.  Yes,  she  must  let  her  come  in, 
poor  thing. 

She  got  a  light  in  an  instant,  opened  the  door,  and  raising 
her  eyes  and  the  candle,  saw  Miss  Aldclyffe  standing  outside 
in  her  dressinsr-govvn. 

"  Now  you  see  that  it  is  really  myself,  put  out  the  light," 
said  the  visitor.  "  I  want  to  stay  here  with  you,  Cythie.  I 
came  to  ask  you  to  come  down  into  my  bed,  but  it  is  snug- 
ger here.  But  remember  that  you  are  mistress  in  this  room, 
and  that  I  have  no  business  here,  and  that  you  may  send 
me  away  if  you  choose.     Shall  I  go  ?  " 

"  O  no  ;  you  shan't  indeed  if  you  don't  want  to,"  said 
Cythie,  generously. 

The  instant  they  were  in  bed  Miss  Aldclyffe  freed  herself 
from  the  last  remnant  of  restraint.  She  flung  her  arms  round 
the  young  girl,  and  pressed  her  gently  to  her  heart. 

"  Now  kiss  me,"  she  said. 

Cytherea,  upon  the  whole,  was  rather  discomposed  at  this 


78  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

change  of  treatment  j  and,  discomposed  or  no,  her  passion," 
were  not  so  impetuous  as  Miss  Aldclyffe's.  She  could  not 
bring  lier  soul  to  her  lips  for  a  moment,  try  how  she  would. 

"  Come  kiss  me,"  repeated  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

Cytherea  gave  her  a  very  small  one,  as  soft  in  touch  and 
in  sound  as  the  bursting  of  a  bubble. 

"  More  earnestly  than  that — come." 

She  gave  another,  a  little  but  not  much  more  expres- 
sively. 

"  I  don't  deserve  a  more  feeling  one,  I  suppose,"  said 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  with  an  emphasis  of  sad  bitterness  in  her 
tone.  "  I  am  an  ill-tempered  woman,  you  think  ;  half  out 
of  my  mind.  Well,  perhaps  I  am  ;  but  I  have  had  grief 
more  than  you  can  think  or  dream  of.  But  I  can't  help  lov- 
ing you — your  name  is  the  same  as  mine — isn't  it  strange  ?" 

Cytherea  was  inclined  to  say  no,  but  remained  silent, 

"  Now,  don't  you  think  I  must  love  you  ?  "  continued  the 
other. 

"Yes,"  said  Cytherea  absently.  She  was  still  thinking 
whether  duty  to  Owen  and  her  father,  which  asked  for  si- 
lence on  her  knowledge  of  her  father's  unfortunate  love,  or 
duty  to  the  woman  embracing  her,  which  seemed  to  ask  for 
confidence,  ought  to  predominate.  Here  was  a  solution. 
She  would  wait  till  Miss  Aldclyffe  referred  to  her  acquaint- 
anceship and  attachment  to  Cytherea's  father  in  past  times  : 
then  she  would  tell  her  all  she  knew  :  that  would  be  honor. 

**  Why  can't  you  kiss  me  as  I  can  kiss  you  ?  Why  can't 
you ! "  She  impressed  upon  Cytherea's  lips  a  warm 
motherly  salute,  given  as  if  in  the  outburst  of  strong  feeling, 
long  checked,  and  yearning  for  something  to  love  and  be 
loved  by  in  return. 

"  Do  you  think  badly  of  me  for  my  behavior  this  evening, 
child  ?  I  don't  know  why  I  am  so  foolish  as  to  speak  to  you 
in  this  way.  I  am  a  very  fool,  I  believe.  Yes.  How  old 
are  you  ?  " 

"  Eighteen." 

"  Eighteen  ....  Well,  why  don't  you  ask  me  how  old 
I  am  ?  " 

"  Because  I  don't  want  to  know." 

"Never  mind  if  you  don't.  I  am  forty-six;  and  it  gives 
me  greater,  pleasure  to  tell  you  this  than  it  does  to  you  to 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  yg 

listen.  I  have  not  told  my  age  truly  for  the  last  twenty 
years  till  now." 

"  Why  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  met  deceit  by  deceit,  till  I  am  weary  of  it — 
weary,  weary — and  I  long  to  be  what  I  shall  never  be  again 
— artless  and  innocent,  like  you.  But  I  suppose  that  you, 
too,  will  prove  to  be  not  worth  a  thought,  as  every  new  friend 
does  on  more  intimate  knowledge.  Come,  why  don't  you 
talk  to  me,  child  }     Have  you  said  your  prayers?" 

"  Yes — no  !     I  forgot  them  to-night." 

"  I  suppose  you  say  them  every  night  as  a  rule  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Why  do  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  Because  I  always  have,  and  it  would  seem  strange  if  I 
were  not  to.     Do  you  ?  " 

"  1  ?  A  wicked  old  sinner  like  me  !  No,  I  never  do.  I 
have  thought  all  such  matters  humbug  for  years — thought  so 
so  long  that  1  should  be  glad  to  think  otherwise  from  very 
weariness  ;  and  yet,  such  is  the  code  of  the  polite  world 
that  I  subscribe  regularly  to  Missionary  Societies  and  others 
of  the  sort  .  .  .  Well,  say  your  prayers,  dear, — you  won't 
omit  them  now  you  recollect  it.  I  should  like  to  hear  you 
very  much.      Will  you?" 

"It  seems  hardly — " 

"It  would  seem  so  like  old  times  to  me — when  I  was 
young,  and  nearer — far  neater  Heaven  than  1  am  now. 
Do,  sweet  one." 

Cytherea  was  embarrassed  ;  and  her  embarrassment  arose 
from  the  following  conjuncture  of  aftairs.  Since  she  had 
loved  Edward  S[)ringrove,  she  had  linked  his  name  with  her 
brother  Owen's  in  her  nightly  supplications  to  the  Almighty. 
She  wished  to  keep  her  love  for  him  a  secret,  and  above 
all  a  secret  from  a  woman  like  Miss  Aldclyife  ;  yet  her  con- 
science and  the  honesty  of  her  love  would  not  for  an  instant 
allow  her  to  think  of  omitting  his  dear  name,  and  so  endan- 
ger the  efficacy  of  all  her  previous  prayers  for  his  success  by 
an  unworthy  shame  now  ;  it  would  be  wicked  of  her,  she 
thought,  and  a  grievous  wrong  to  him.  Under  any  worldly 
circumstances  she  might  have  thought  the  position  justified 
a  little  finesse,  and  have  skipped  him  for  once ;  but  prayer 
was  too  solemn  a  thing  for  such  trifling. 


8o  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

"  I  would  rather  not  say  them,"  she  murmured  first.  It 
struck  her  then  that  this  dedining  altogether  was  the  same 
cowardice  in  another  dress,  and  was  delivering  her  poor 
Edward  over  to  Satan,  just  as  imceremoniously  as  before. 
"  Yes  ;  I  will  say  my  prayers,  and  you  shall  hear  me,"  she 
added,  firmly 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  pillow  and  repeated  in  low 
soft  tones  the  simple  words  she  had  used  from  childhood  on 
such  occasions.  Owen's  name  was  mentioned  without  fal- 
tering, but  in  the  other  case,  maidenly  shyness  was  too 
strong  even  for  religion,  and  that  when  supported  by  excel- 
lent intentions.  At  the  name  of  Edward  she  stammered, 
and  her  voice  sank  to  the  faintest  whisper  in  spite  of  her. 

"  Thank  you,  dearest,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  "  I  have 
prayed  too,  I  verily  believe.  You  are  a  good  girl,  I  think." 
Then  the  expected  question  came. 

"  '  Bless  Owen,'  and  who,  did  you  say?" 

There  was  no  help  for  it  now,  and  out  it  came.  "  Owen 
and  Edward,"  said  Cytherea. 

"  Who  are  Owen  and  Edward?" 

'•  Owen  is  my  brother,  madam,"  faltered  the  maid. 

"  Ah,  I  remember.     Who  is  Edward  ?  " 

A  silence. 

"  Your  brother,  too  ?  "  continued  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

"  No." 

Miss  Aldclyffe  reflected  a  moment.  "  Don't  you  want  to 
tell  me  who  Edward  is  ? "  she  said  at  last,  in  a  tone  of 
meaning. 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  ;  only  .  .  .  ." 

"  You  would  rather  not,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Miss  Aldclyffe  shifted  her  ground.  "  Were  you  ever  in 
love  ?  "  she  inquired,  suddenly. 

Cytherea  was  surprised  to  hear  how  quickly  the  voice  had 
altered  from  tenderness  to  harshness,  vexation,  and  disap- 
pointment. 

"Yes — I  think  I  was — once,"  she  murmured. 

"  Aha  !  and  were  you  ever  kissed  by  a  man  ?  " 

A  pause. 

"  Well,  were  you  ?  "  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  rather  sharply. 


DESFEKATE  REMEDIES,  8 1 

"Don't  press  me  to  tell — I  can't — indeed,  I  won't, 
madam." 

Miss  Aldclyflfe  removed  her  arms  from  Cj'therea's  necl;. 
" '  Tis  now  with  you  as  it  is  always  with  all  girls,"  she  said, 
in  jealous  and  gloomy  accents.  "  You  are  not,  after  all,  the 
innocent  I  took  you  for.  No,  no."  She  then  changed  her 
tone  with  fitful  rapidity.  "  Cytherea,  try  to  love  me  more 
than  you  love  him — do.  I  love  you  better  than  any  man 
can.  Do,  Cythie  ;  don't  let  any  man  stand  between  us. 
Oh,  I  can't  bear  that !"    She  clasped  Cytherea's  neck  again. 

"  I  must  love  him  now  1  have  begun,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Must — yes — must,"  said  the  elder  lady,  reproachfully. 
"Yes,  women  are  all  alike.  I  thought  I  had  at  last  found 
an  artless  woman  who  had  not  been  sullied  by  a  man's  lips, 
and  who  had  not  practised  or  been  practised  upon  by  the 
arts  which  ruin  all  the  truth  and  sweetness  and  goodness  in 
us.  Find  a  girl,  if  you  can,  whose  mouth  and  ears  have 
not  been  made  a  regular  highway  of  by  some  man  or 
another  !  Leave  the  admittedly  notorious  spots — the  draw- 
ing-rooms of  society — and  look  in  the  villages — leave  the 
villages  and  search  in  the  schools — and  you  can  hardly  find 
a  girl  whose  heart  has  not  been  had — is  not  an  old  thing 
half  worn  out  by  some  He  or  another.  If  men  only  knew 
the  staleness  of  the  freshest  of  us !  that  nine  times  out  of 
ten  the  '  first  love '  they  think  they  are  winning  from  a 
woman  is  but  the  hulk  of  an  old  wrecked  affection,  fitted 
with  new  sails  and  re-used.  O,  Cytherea,  can  it  be  that  you 
too  are  like  the  rest  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  no,"  urged  Cytherea,  awed  by  the  storm  she 
had  raised  in  the  impetuous  woman's  mind.  "  He  only 
kissed  me  once — twice,  I  mean." 

"He  might  have  a  thousand  times  if  he  had  cared  to, 
there's  no  doubt  about  that,  whoever  his  lordship  is.  You 
are  as  bad  as  I — we  are  all  alike  ;  and  I — an  old  fool — have 
been  sipping  at  your  mouth  as  if  it  were  honey,  because  I 
fancied  no  wasting  lover  knew  the  spot.  But  a  minute  ago, 
and  you  seemed  to  me  like  a  fresh  spring  meadow — now  you 
seem  a  dusty  highway." 

"  O  no,  no  !  "  Cytherea  was  not  weak  enough  to  shed 
tears  except  on  extraordinary  occasions,  but  she  was  fiin  to 
begin  sobbing  now.  She  wished  Miss  Aldclyffe  would  go  to 
4* 


82  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

her  own  room,  and  leave  her  and  her  treasured  dreams  alone. 
Thi.1  vehement  imperious  affection  was  in  one  sense  sootn- 
ing,  bat  yet  it  was  not  of  the  kind  that  Cythcrea's  instincts 
desirevi  Though  it  was  generous,  it  seemed  somewhat  too 
rank,  sensuous,  and  capricious  for  endurance. 

"  Well,"  said  the  lady  in  continuation,  "  who  is  he  ?" 

Her  companion  was  desperately  determined  not  to  tell 
nis  name ;  she  too  much  feared  a  taunt  when  Miss 
Aldclyfife's  fiery  mood  again  ruled  her  tongue. 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  ?  not  tell  me  after  all  the  affection  I 
have  shown  ?  " 

"  I  will,  perhaps,  another  day." 

"  Did  you  wear  a  hat  and  white  feather  in  Creston  for  the 
week  or  two  previous  to  your  coming  here  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  have  seen  you  and  your  sweetheart  at  a  distance ! 
He  rowed  you  round  the  bay  with  your  brother." 

"Yes." 

"  And  without  your  brother — fie  !  There,  there,  don't  let 
that  little  heart  beat  itself  to  death  ;  throb,  throb  :  it  shakes 
the  bed,  you  silly  thing.  I  didn't  mean  there  was  any  harm 
in  going  alone  with  him.  I  only  saw  you  from  the  esplan- 
ade, in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  people.  I  often  run 
down  to  Creston.  He  was  a  very  good  figure  \  now  who 
was  he  ?  " 

"  I — I  won't  tell,  madam — I  cannot  indeed  !  " 

"Won't  tell — very  well,  don't.  You  are  very  foolish  to 
treasure  up  his  name  and  image  as  you  do.  Why,  he  has 
had  Loves  before  you,  trust  him  for  that,  whoever  he  is,  and 
you  are  but  a  temporary  link  in  a  long  chain  of  others  like 
you,  who  only  have  your  little  day  as  they  have  had  theirs." 

"'Tisn't  true  !  'tisn't  true,  tisn't  true  !"  cried  Cytherea  in 
agony  of  torture.  "  He  has  never  loved  anybody  else,  I 
knovv^l  am  sure  he  hasn't  !  " 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  as  jealous  as  any  man  could  have 
|)cen.     She  continued — 

"  He  sees  a  beautiful  face,  and  thinks  he  will  never  forget 
It,  but  in  a  few  weeks  the  feefing  jjasses  off,  and  he  wonders 
now  he  could  liave  cared  for  anybody  so  absurdly  much." 

"No,  no,  he  doesn't — What  does  he  do  when  he  has 
thought  that — couie,  fell  tne — tell  me  ! " 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  83 

"  You  are  as  hot  as  fire,  and  the  throbbing  of  your  heart 
makes  me  nervous.  I  can't  tell  you  if  you  get  in  that  flus- 
tered state." 

"  Do,  do  tell — Oh,  it  makes  me  so  miserable  :  but  tell-- 
come  tell  ! " 

'•Ah — the  tables  are  turned  now,  dear!"  she  continued, 
in  a  tone  which  mingled  pity  with  derision  : — 

"  'Love's  passions  shall  rock  thee 

As  the  storms  rock  the  ravens  on  high. 
Bright  reason  will  mock  thee  * 

Like  the  sun  from  a  wintry  sky.'  " 

"  W[\dX  does  he  do  next  ? — Why,  this  is  what  he  does  next : 
ruminate  on  what  he  has  heard  of  woman's  romantic  im- 
pulses, and  how  easily  men  torture  them  when  they  have 
given  way  to  those  feelings,  and  have  resigned  everything 
for  their  hero.  It  may  be  that  though  he  loves  you  heartily 
now — that  is,  as  heartily  as  a  man  can — and  you  love  him 
in  return,  your  loves  may  be  impracticable  and  hopeless, 
and  you  may  be  separated  for  ever.  You,  as  the  weary, 
weary  years  pass  by,  will  fade  and  fade — bright  eyes  will 
fade — and  you  will  perhaps  then  die  early — true  to  him  to 
your  latest  breath,  and  believing  him  to  be  true  to  the  lat- 
est breath  also ;  whilst  he,  in  some  gay  and  busy  spot  far 
away  from  your  last  quiet  nook,  will  have  married  some 
dashing  lady,  and  not  purely  oblivious  of  you,  will  long 
have  ceased  to  regret  you — will  chat  about  you,  as  you  were 
in  long  ]:)ast  years — will  say,  'Ah,  little  Cytherea  used  to 
tie  her  hair  like  that — poor  innocent  trusting  thing  !  it  was  a 
pleasant,  useless,  idle  dream — that  dream  of  mine  for  th« 
maid  with  the  bright  eyes  and  simple,  silly  heart ;  but  I 
was  a  foolish  lad  at  that  time.'  Then  he  will  telL  the  tale  of 
all  your  little  Wills  and  Won'ts,  and  jjarticular  ways,  and  as 
he  speaks,  turn  to  his  wife  with  a  placid  smile." 

"  It  is  not  true  !  He  can't,  he  c — can't  be  s — so  cruel — 
and  you  are  cruel  to  me — you  are,  you  are  !  "  She  was  at 
last  driven  to  desperation  ;  her  natural  common-sense  and 
shrewdness  had  seen  all  through  the  piece  how  imaginary 
her  emotions  were — she  felt  herself  to  be  weak  and  foolish 
in  permitting  them  to  rise  ;  but  even  then  she  could  not 
control  them ;  be  agonised  she  must.     She  was  only  eigli: 


84  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

teen,  and  the  long  day's  labor,  her  weariness,  her  excite- 
ment, had  complttely  unnerved  her,  and  worn  her  out ;  she 
was  bent  hither  and  thither  by  this  tyrannical  working  ui)on 
her  imagination,  as  a  young  rush  in  the  wind.  She  wei)t 
bitterly. 

"  And  now  think  how  much  I  like  you,"  resumed  Miss 
A'dclyffe,  when  Cylherea  grew  calmer,  "/shall  never  for- 
get you  for  anybody  else,  as  men  do — never.  I  will  be  ex- 
actly as  a  mother  to  you.  Now  will  you  promise  to  live 
with  me  alivays,  and  always  be  taken  care  of,  and  nevtr 
deserted  ?  " 

"  I  cannot.  I  will  not  be  anybody's  maid  for  another 
day  on  any  consideration." 

**No,  no,  no.  You  shan't  be  a  lady's-maid.  You  shall 
be  my  companion.     I  will  get  another  maid." 

Companion — that  was  a  new  idea.  Cytherea  could  not 
resist  the  evidently  heartfelt  desire  of  the  strange-tempered 
woman  for  her  presence.  But  she  could  not  trust  to  the 
moment's  impulse. 

"  I  will  stay,  I  think.  But  do  not  ask  for  a  final  answer 
to-n=ght." 

"  Never  mind  now,  then.  Put  your  hair  round  your 
ma'nma's  neck  and  give  me  one  good  long  kiss,  and  I  won't 
talk  any  more  in  that  way  about  your  lover.  After  ail,  some 
young  men  are  not  so  fickle  as  others  ;  but  even  if  he's  the 
ficklesf,  there  is  consolation.  The  love  of  an  inconstant 
man  is  ten  times  more  ardent  than  that  of  a  faithful  man — 
that  is.  while  it  lasts." 

Cylherea  did  as  she  was  told,  to  escape  the  punishment 
of  farther  talk  ;  flung  the  twining  tresses  of  her  long,  rich 
h  I  r  over  Miss  Aklclyffe's  shoulders  as  directed,  and  the  two 
ceased  conversing,  making  themselves  up  for  sleep.  Miss 
Aldclyffe  seemed  to  give  herstilf  over  to  a  luxurious  sense  of 
content  and  quiet,  as  if  the  maiden  at  her  side  afforded  her 
a  protection  against  dangers  which  had  menaced  her  for 
years ;  she  was  soon  sleeping  calmly. 


§  2.  Two  to  five  a.  m. 
With  Cytherea  it  was  otherwise.     Unused  to  the  place  and 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES.  85 

circumstances,  she  continued  wakeful,  ill  at  ease,  and  men- 
tally distressed.  She  withdrew  heiself  from  her  compan- 
ion's embrace,  turned  to  the  other  side,  and  endeavored  to 
relieve  her  busy  brain  by  looking  at  the  window-blind,  and 
noticing  the  hglit  of  the  rising  moon — now  in  her  last  quar- 
ter— creep  round  upon  it :  it  was  the  light  of  an  old  wanii  g 
moon  which  had  but  a  few  days  longer  to  live. 

The  sight  led  her  to  think  again  of  what  had  happened 
under  the  rays  of  the  same  month's  moon,  a  little  before  its 
full,  the  delicious  evening  scene  with  Edward  ;  the  kiss,  and 
the  shortness  of  those  hapi)y  moments — maiden  imagination 
bringing  about  the  apotheosis  of  a  status  quo  which  had  had 
several  unpleasantnesses  in  its  earthly  realit)-. 

But  sounds  were  in  the  ascendant  that  night.  Her  ears 
became  aware  of  a  strange  and  gloomy  murmur. 

Sue  recognized  it :  it  was  the  gushing  of  the  waterfall, 
faint  and  low,  brought  from  its  source  to  the  unwonted  dis- 
tance of  the  House  by  a  faint  breeze  which  made  it  distinct 
and  recognizable  by  reason  of  the  utter  absence  of  all  dis- 
turbing sounds.  The  groom's  melancholy  representation 
lent  to  the  sound  a  more  dismal  effect  than  it  would  have 
had  of  its  own  nature.  She  began  to  fancy  what  the  water- 
fall must  be  like  at  that  hour,  under  the  trees  in  the  ghostly 
moonlight.  Black  at  the  head,  and  over  the  surface  of  the 
deep  cold  hole  into  which  it  fell  ;  vhite  and  frothy  at  the 
fall  ;  black  and  white,  like  a  pall  and  its  border ;  sad  every- 
where. 

She  was  in  the  mood  for  sounds  of  every  kind  now,  and 
strained  her  ears  to  catch  the  faintest,  in  wayward  enmity 
to  her  quiet  of  mind.     Another  soon  came. 

The  Second  was  quite  different  from  the  first — a  kind  of 
intermittent  whistle  it  seemed  primarily  ;  no,  a  creak,  a  me- 
tallic creak,  ever  and  anon,  like  a  plough,  or  a  rusty  wheel- 
barrow, or  at  least  a  wheel  of  some  kind.  Yes,  it  was  a 
wheel — the  water-wheel  in  the  shrubbery  by  the  old  manor- 
house,  which  the  coachman  had  said  would  drive  Rim  mad. 

She  determined  not  to  think  any  more  of  these  gloomy 
things  ;  but  now  that  she  had  once  noticed  the  sound  there 
was  no  sealing  her  ears  to  it.  She  could  not  help  timing  its 
creaks,  and  putting  on  a  dread  expectancy  just  before  the 
end  of  each  half  mumte  that  brought  them.     To  imagine  the 


86  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

inside  of  the  engine-house,  whence  these  noises  proceeded, 
was  now  a  necessity.  No  window,  but  crevices  in  the 
door,  through  which,  probably,  the  moonbeams  streamed  in 
the  most  attenuated  and  skeleton-like  rays,  striking  sharply 
upon  portions  of  wet  rusty  cranks  and  chains  ;  a  glistening 
wheel,  turning  incessantl)',  laboring  in  the  dark  like  a  cap- 
tive starving  in  a  dungeon ;  and  instead  of  a  floor  below, 
gurgling  water,  which  on  account  of  the  darkness  could  only 
be  heard  ;  water  which  labored  up  dark  pipes  almost  to 
where  she  lay. 

She  shivered.  Now  she  was  determined  to  go  to  sleep  ; 
there  could  be  nothing  else  left  to  be  heard  or  to  imagine — • 
it  was  horrid  that  her  imagination  should  be  so  restless. 
Yet  just  for  an  instant  before  going  to  sleep  she  would  think 
this — suppose  another  sound  should  come — ^just  suppose  it 
should  !  Before  the  thought  had  well  passed  through  her 
brain,  a  third  sound  came. 

The  third  was  a  very  soft  gurgle  or  rattle — of  a  strange 
and  abnormal  kind — yet  a  sound  she  had  heard  before  at 
some  past  period  of  her  life — when,  she  could  not  recollect. 
To  make  it  the  more  disturbing,  it  seemed  to  be  almost 
close  to  her — either  close  outside  the  window,  or  close  under 
the  floor,  or  close  above  the  ceiling.  The  accidental  fact  of 
its  coming  so  immediately  upon  the  heels  of  her  supposition, 
told  so  powerfully  upon  her  excited  nerves,  that  she  jumped 
up  in  the  bed.  The  same  instant,  a  little  dog  in  some  room 
near,  having  probably  heard  the  same  noise,  set  up  a  low 
whine.  The  watch-dog  in  the  yard,  hearing  the  moan  of  his 
associate,  began  to  howl  loudly  and  distinctly.  His  melan- 
choly notes  were  taken  up  directly  afterwards  by  the  dogs  ir. 
the  kennel  a  long  way  off,  in  every  variety  of  wail. 

One  logical  tiiought  alone  was  able  to  enter  her  flurried 
brain.  The  little  dog  that  began  the  whining  must  have 
heard  the  other  two  sounds  even  better  than  herself  He 
had  taken  no  notice  of  them,  but  he  had  taken  notice  of  the 
third.     The  third,  then,  was  an  unusual  sound. 

It  was  not  like  water,  it  was  not  like  wind,  it  was  not  the 
night-jar,  it  was  not  a  clock,  nor  a  rat,  nor  a  person  snoring. 

She  crept  under  the  clothes,  and  flung  her  arms  tightly 
round  Miss  Aldclyffe,  as  if  for  protection.  Cytherea  per- 
ceived that  the  lady's  late  peaceful  warmth  had  given  place 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  87 

to  a  sweat.  At  the  maden's  touch,  Miss  Aldclyffe  a^voke 
with  a  low  scream. 

She  remembered  her  position  instantly.  "Oh,  such  a  ter- 
rible dream ! "  she  cried,  in  a  hurried  whisper,  holding  to 
Cytherea  in  her  turn  ;  "  and  your  touch  was  the  end  of  it. 
It  was  dreadful.  Time,  with  his  wings,  hour-glass,  and 
scythe,  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  me — grinning  and 
mocking  :  then  he  seized  me,  took  a  piece  of  me  only.  .  .  . 
But  I  can't  tell  you,  1  can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  How  those 
dogs  howl !     People  say  it  means  death." 

The  ieturn  of  Miss  Aldclyffe  to  consciousness  was  suffi- 
cient to  dispel  the  wild  fancies  which  the  loneliness  of  the 
night  had  woven  in  Cytherea's  mind.  She  dismissed  the 
third  noise  as  something  which  in  all  likelihood  could  easily 
be  explained,  if  trouble  were  taken  to  inquire  into  it ;  large 
houses  had  all  kinds  of  strange  sounds  floating  about  them. 
She  was  ashamed  to  tell  Miss  Aldclyfife  her  terrors. 

A  silence  of  five  minutes. 

"Are  you  asleep  ?"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

"  No,"  said  Cytherea,  in  a  long-drawn  whisper. 

"  How  those  dogs  howl,  don't  they  ?" 

"  Yes.     A  little  dog  in  the  house  began  it." 

"  Ah,  yes  :  that  was  Totsy.  He  sleeps  on  the  mat  out- 
side my  father's  bedroom  door.     A  nervous  creature." 

There  was  a  silent  interval  of  nearly  half  an  hour.  A 
clock  on  the  landing  struck  three. 

"  Are  you  asleep.  Miss  Aldclyffe  ?  "  whispered  Cytherea. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  "  How  wretched  it  is  not  to 
be  able  to  sleep,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Cytherea,  like  a  docile  child. 

Another  hour  passed,  and  the  clock  struck  four.  Miss 
Aldclyffe  was  still  awake. 

"  Cytherea,"  she  said,  very  softly. 

Cytherea  made  no  answer.     She  was  sleeping  soundly. 

The  first  glimmer  of  dawn  was  now  visible.  Miss  Aldclyffe 
arose,  put  on  her  dressing-robe,  and  went  softly  downstairs 
to  her  own  room. 

"  I  have  not  told  her  who  I  am  after  all,  or  found  out  the 
particulars  of  Ambrose's  history,"  she  murmured.  *'  But  hei 
being  in  love  alters  everything." 


88  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


§  3.  Half  past  seven  to  ten  d  clock  a.  m, 

Cytherea  awoke,  quiet  in  mind  and  refreshed.  A  con* 
elusion  to  remain  at  Knapwater  was  already  in  possession  of 
her. 

Finding  Miss  AldclyfFe  gone,  she  dressed  herself  and  sat 
down  at  the  window  to  write  an  answer  to  Edward's  letter, 
and  an  account  of  her  arrival  at  Knapwater  to  Owen.  The 
dismal  and  heart-breaking  pictures  diat  Miss  Aldclyffe  had 
placed  before  her  the  preceding  evening,  the  later  terrors  of 
the  night,  were  now  but  as  shadow  of  shadows,  and  she  smiled 
in  derision  at  her  own  excitability. 

Bat  writing  Edward's  letter  was  the  great  consoler,  the 
effect  of  each  word  u|)on  liim  being  enacted  in  her  own  face 
as  she  wrote  it.  She  felt  how  much  she  would  like  to  share 
his  trouble — how  well  she  could  endure  poverty  with  him — 
and  wondered  what  his  trouble  was.  But  all  would  be  ex- 
plained at  last,  she  knew. 

At  the  appointed  time  she  went  to  Miss  Aldclyffe's  room, 
intending,  with  the  contradictoriness  common  in  people,  to 
perform  with  pleasure,  as  a  work  of  supererogation,  what  as 
a  duty  was  simply  intolerable. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  already  out  of  bed.  The  bright  pene- 
trating light  of  morning  made  a  vast  difference  in  the  elder 
lady's  behavior  to  her  dependent ;  the  day,  which  had  res- 
tored Cytherea's  judgment,  had  effected  the  same  for  Miss 
Aldclyffe.  Though  pratical  reasons  forbade  her  regretting 
that  she  had  secured  such  a  companionable  creature  to  read, 
talk,  or  play  to  her  whenever  her  whim  required,  she  was 
inwardly  vexed  at  the  extent  to  which  she  had  indulged  in 
the  womanly  luxury  of  making  confidences  and  giving  way  to 
emotions.  Few  would  have  supposed  that  the  calm  lady 
sitting  so  aristocratically  at  the  toilet  table,  seeming  scarcely 
conscious  of  Cytherea's  presence  in  the  room,  even  when 
greeting  her,  was  the  passionate  creature  who  had  asked  for 
kisses  a  few  hours  before. 

It  is  both  painful  and  satisfactory  to  think  how  often  these 
antitheses  are  to  be  observed  in  the  individual  most  open  to 
our  observation — ourselves:  We  pass  the  evening  with  faces 
lit  up  by  some  flaring  illumination  or  other ;  we  get  up  the 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES.  89 

next  morning — the  fiery  jets  liave  all  gone  out,  and  nothing  I 
confronts  us  but  a  few  crinkled  i)i|)es  and  sooty  wirework,/ 
hardly   recalling   the   outline   of  the    blazing    picture    than 
arrested  our  eyes  before  bedtime. 

Emotions  would  be  half  starved  if  there  were  no  candle- 
light. Probably  nine-tenths  of  the  gushing  letters  of  indis- 
creet confidences  are  written  after  nine  or  ten  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  and  sent  ofif  before  day  returns  to  leer  invidiously 
upon  them.  Few  that  remain  open  to  catch  our  glance  a? 
we  rise  in  the  morning,  survive  the  rigid  criticism  of  dress- 
ing time. 

The  subject  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  the  two  women 
who  had  thus  cooled  from  their  fires,  were  not  the  visionary 
ones  of  the  later  hours,  but  the  hard  facts  of  their  earliei 
conversation.  After  a  remark  that  Cytherea  need  not  assist 
her  in  dressing  anles  she  wished  to,  Miss  Aldclyffe  said, 
abruptl}', — 

"  I  can  tell  that  young  man's  name."  She  looked  keenly 
at  Cytherea.      "  It  is  Edward  Springrove,  my  tenant's  son." 

The  inundation  of  color  upon  the  younger  lady  at  hearing 
a  name  which  to  her  was  a  world,  handled  as  if  it  were  only 
an  atom,  told  Miss  Aldclyffe  that  she  had  divined  the  truth 
at  last. 

"Ah — it  is  he,  is  it?"  she  continued.  "Well,  I  wanted 
to  know  for  practical  reasons.  His  example  shows  that  I 
was  not  so  far  wrong  in  my  estimate  of  men  after  all,  though 
I  only  generalized,  and  had  no  thought  of  him."  This  was 
perfectly  true. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"    said  Cytherea,  visibly  alarmed. 

"  Mean  ?  Why,  that  all  the  world  knows  him  to  be  en- 
gaged to  be  married,  and  that  the  wedding  is  soon  to  take 
place."  She  made  the  remark  bluntly  and  superciliously,  as 
if  to  obtain  absolution  at  the  hands  of  her  family  pride  for 
the  weak  confidences  of  the  night. 

But  even  tiie  frigidity  of  Miss  Aldclyffe's  mood  was  over- 
come by  the  look  of  sick  and  blank  despair  which  the  care- 
lessly uttered  words  had  produced  upon  Cytherea's  face. 
She  sank  back  into  a  chair,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

"  Don't  be  foolish,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  "  Come,  make 
the  best  of  it.     I  cannot  upset  the  fact  I  have  told  you  of, 


90 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


unfortunately.  But  I  believe  the  match  can  be  broken 
off." 

"  Oh  no,  no." 

"Nonsense.  I  liked  him  much  as  a  youth,  and  I  like 
him  now.  I'll  help  you  to  captivate  and  chain  him  down. 
I  have  got  over  my  absurd  feeling  of  last  night  in  not  want- 
ing you  ever  to  go  away  from  me — of  course  I  could  not  ex- 
pect such  a  thing  as  that.  There,  now  I  have  said  I'll  help 
you,  and  that's  enough.  He's  tired  of  his  first  sweetheart 
now  that  he's  been  away  from  home  for  a  while.  The  love 
which  no  outer  attack  can  frighten  away  quails  before  its 

idol's   own   homely   ways  ;   'tis   always   so Come, 

finish  what  you  are  doing  if  you  are  going  to,  and  don't  be  a 
little  goose  about  such  a  trumpery  aftair  as  that." 

"  Who — is  he  engaged  to  ?  "  Cytherea  enquired  by  a 
movement  of  her  lips  but  no  sound  of  her  voice.  But  Miss 
Aldclyffe  did  not  answer.  It  mattered  not,  Cytherea  thought. 
Another  woman — that  was  enough  for  her ;  curiosity  was 
stunned. 

She  applied  herself  to  the  work  of  dressing,  scarcely 
knowing  how.     Miss  Aldclyfife  went  on  : — 

"  You  were  too  easily  won.  I'd  have  made  him  or  any- 
body else  speak  out  before  he  should  have  kissed  my  face 
for  his  pleasure.  But  you  are  one  of  those  precipitantly 
fond  things  who  are  yearning  to  throw  away  their  hearts 
upon  the  first  worthless  fellow  who  says  Good-morning.  In 
the  first  place,  you  shouldn't  have  loved  him  so  quickly  ;  in 
the  next,  if  you  must  have  loved  hiri  off"-hand,  you  should 
have  concealed  it.  It  tickled  his  vanity  :  '  By  Jove,  that 
girl's  in  love  with  me  already  ! '  he  thought." 

To  hasten  away  at  the  end  of  the  toilet,  to  tell  Mrs.  Mor- 
ris—who stood  waiting  in  a  little  room  prepared  for  her, 
with  tea  poured  out,  bread-and-butter  cut  into  diaphanous 
slices,  and  eggs  arranged — that  she  wanted  no  breakfast ; 
then  to  shut  herself  alone  in  her  bedroom,  was  her  only 
thought.  She  was  followed  thither  by  the  well-intentioned 
matron  with  a  cup  of  tea  and  one  piece  of  bread-and-butter 
on  a  tray,  cheerfully  insisting  that  she  should  eat  it. 

To  those  who  grieve,  innocent  cheerfulness  seems  heartless 
levity.  "No,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Morris,"  she  said,  keeping 
the    door    closed.     Despite    the   incivility   of    the    action, 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


91 


Cytherea  could  not  bear  to  let  a  pleasant  person  see  her 
face  then. 

Immediate  revocation — even  if  revocation  would  be  more 
effective  by  postponement — is  the  impulse  of  young  wound- 
ed natures.  Cytherea  went  to  her  blotting-book,  took  out 
the  long  letter  so  carefully  written,  so  full  of  gushing  re- 
marks and  tender  hints,  and  sealed  up  so  neatly  with  a  little 
seal  bearing  "  Good  Faith "  as  its  motto,  tore  the  missive 
into  fifty  pieces,  and  threw  them  into  the  grate.  It  was 
then  the  bitterest  of  anguishes  to  look  upon  some  of  the 
words  she  had  so  lovingly  written,  and  see  them  existing  only 
in  mutilated  forms  without  meaning — to  feel  that  his  eye 
would  never  read  hem,  nobody  ever  know  how  ardently  she 
had  penned  them. 

Pity  for  one's  self  for  being  wasted  is  mostly  present  in 
these  moods  of  abnegation. 

The  meaning  of  all  his  allusions,  his  abruptness  in  telling 
her  of  his  love  ;  his  constraint  at  first,  then  his  desperate 
manner  of  speaking,  was  clear.  They  must  have  been  the 
last  flickering  of  a  conscience  not  q-  ite  dead  to  all  sense  of 
perfidiousness  and  fickleness.  Now  he  had  gone  to  Lon- 
don :  she  would  be  dismissed  from  his  memory,  in  the  same 
way  as  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  said.  And  here  she  was  in  Ed- 
ward's own  parish,  reminded  continually  of  him  by  what  she 
saw  and  heard.  The  landscaj^e,  yesterday  so  much  and  so 
bright  to  her,  was  now  but  as  the  banquet-hall  deserted — all 
gone  but  herself 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  wormed  her  secret  out  of  her,  and 
would  now  be  continually  mocking  her  for  her  trusting  sim- 
plicity in  believing  him.  It  was  altogether  unbearable  ;  she 
would  not  stay  there. 

She  went  downstairs,  and  found  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  had 
gone  into  the  breakfast-room,  but  that  Captain  Aldclyffe, 
who  rose  later  with  increasing  infirmities,  had  not  yet  made 
his  appearance.  Cytherea  entered.  Miss  Aldclyffe  was 
looking  out  of  the  window,  watching  a  trail  of  white  smoke 
along  the  distant  landscape — signifying  a  passing  train.  At 
Cytherea's  entry  she  turned  and  looked  inquiry. 

"  I  must  tell  you  now,"  began  Cytherea,  in  a  tremulous 
voice. 

"  Well,  what  ?  "  Miss  Aldclyffe  said. 


92 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


"  I  am  not  going  to  stay  with  you.  I  must  go  away — a  very 
long  way.     I  am  very  sorry,  but  indeed  I  can't  remain  !" 

"  Pooh — what  shall  we  hear  next  ?  "  Miss  Aldclyffe  sur- 
veyed Cytherea's  face  with  leisurely  criticism.  "  You  are 
breaking  your  heart  again  about  that  worthless  young  Spring- 
rove.  1  knew  how  it  would  be.  It  is  as  Hallam  says  of 
Juliet — what  little  reason  you  may  have  possessed  originally 
has  all  been  whirled  away  by  this  love.  I  shan't  take  this 
notice,  mind." 

"Do  let  me  go?" 

Miss  Aldclyffe  took  her  new  pet's  hand,  and  said  with  se- 
verity, "As  to  hindering  you,  if  you  are  determined  to  go, 
of  course  that's  absurd.  But  you  arc  not  now  in  a  state  of 
mind  fit  for  deciding  upon  any  such  proceeding,  and  I  shall 
not  listen  to  what  you  have  to  say.  Now,  Cythie,  come 
with  me ;  we'll  let  this  volcano  burst  and  spend  itself,  and 
after  that  we'll  see  what  had  better  be  done."  She  took 
Cytherea  into  her  work-room,  opened  a  drawer,  and  drew 
forth  a  roll  of  linen. 

"  This  is  some  embroidery  I  began  one  day,  and  now  I 
should  like  it  finished." 

She  then  preceded  the  maiden  upstairs  to  Cytherea's 
own  room.  "  There,"  she  said,  "  now  sit  down  here,  go  on 
with  this  work,  and  remember  one  thing — that  you  are  not 
to  leave  the  room  on  any  pretext  whatever  for  two  hours, 
unless  I  send  for  you — I  insist  kindly,  dear.  Whilst  you 
stitch — you  are  to  stitch,  recollect,  and  not  go  mooning  out 
of  the  window — think  over  the  whole  matter,  and  get  cooled  ; 
don't  let  the  foolish  love-affair  j^revent  your  thinking  as  a 
woman  of  the  world.  If  at  the  end  of  that  time  you  still  say 
you  must  leave  me,  you  may.  I  will  have  no  more  to  say 
in  the  matter.  Come,  sit  down,  and  promise  to  sit  here  the 
time  I  name." 

To  hearts  in  a  despairing  mood,  compulsion  seems  a  re- 
lief; and  docility  was  at  all  times  natural  to  Cytherea.  She 
promised,  and  sat  down.  Miss  Aldclyffe  shut  the  door  upon 
her  and  retreated. 

She  sewed,  stopped  to  think,  shed  a  tear  or  two,  recol- 
lected the  articles  of  the  treaty,  and  sewed  again  ;  and  at 
length  fell  into  a  reverie  which  took  no  account  whatever  o/ 
the  lapse  of  time. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  93 


§  4.   TeJi  to  twelve  d  clock  a.  m. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  might  have  passed  when  hei 
thoughts  became  attracted  from  the  past  to  the  present  by 
umvonted  movements  downstairs.  She  opened  the  door 
and  hstened. 

There  was  Inirrying  along  passages,  opening  and  shutting 
of  doors,  trampHng  in  the  stable-yard.  She  went  across  into 
another  bedroom  from  which  a  view  of  the  stable-yard  could 
be  obtained,  and  arrived  there  just  in  time  to  see  the  figure 
of  the  man  who  had  driven  her  from  the  station  vanishing 
down  the  coach-road  on  a  black  horse — galloping  at  the  top 
of  the  animal's  speed. 

Another  man  went  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 

Whatever  had  occurred,  it  did  not  seem  to  be  her  duty  to 
inquire  or  meddle  with  it,  stranger  and  dependent  as  she 
was,  unless  she  were  requested  to,  especially  after  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe's  strict  charge  to  her.  She  sat  down  again,  determined 
to  let  no  idle  curiosity  influence  her  movements. 

Her  window  commanded  the  front  of  the  house  ;  and  the 
next  thing  she  saw  was  a  clergyman  walk  up  and  enter  the 
door. 

All  was  silent  again  till,  a  long  time  after  the  first  man 
had  left,  he  returned  again  on  the  same  horse,  now  matted 
with  sweat  and  trotting  behind  a  carriage  in  which  sat  an 
elderly  gentleman  driven  by  a  lad  in  livery.  These  came  to 
the  house,  entered,  and  all  was  again  the  same  as  before. 

The  whole  household — master,  mistress,  and  servants — 
appeared  to  have  forgotten  the  very  existence  of  such  a  be- 
ing as  Cytherea.  She  almost  wished  she  had  not  vowed  to 
have  no  idle  curiosity. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  carriage  drove  off  with  the  elderly 
gentleman,  and  two  or  three  messengers  left  the  house, 
speeding  in  various  directions.  Rustics  in  smock-frocks  be- 
gan to  hang  about  the  road  opposite  the  house,  or  lean 
against  trees,  looking  idly  at  the  windows  and  chimneys. 

A  tap  came  to  Cytherea's  door.  She  opened  it  to  a 
young  maid-servant. 

"  Miss  Aldclyffe  wishes  to  see  you,  ma'am."  Cytherea 
hastened  down. 


94 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


Miss  Aldclyffe  was  standing  on  the  hearth-rug,  her  elbow 
on  the  mantel,  her  hand  to  her  temples,  her  eyes  on  the 
ground  ;  perfectly  calm,  but  very  pale. 

"  Cytherea,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  come  here." 

Cvtherea  went  close. 

"  Something  very  serious  has  taken  place,"  she  said  again, 
and  then  paused,  with  a  tremulous  movement  of  hei 
mouth. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cytherea. 

"  My  father.  He  was  found  dead  in  his  bed  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  Dead  !  "  echoed  the  younger  woman.  It  seemed  impos- 
sible that  the  announcement  could  be  true  :  that  knowledge 
of  so  great  a  fact  could  be  contained  in  a  statement  so 
small. 

"  Yes,  dead,"  murmured  Miss  Aldclyffe,  solemnly.  "  He 
died  alone,  though  within  a  few  feet  of  me.  The  room  we 
slept  in  is  exactly  over  his  own." 

Cytherea  said,  hurriedly,  "  Do  they  know  at  what  hour  ?  " 

"  The  doctor  says  it  must  have  been  between  two  and 
three  o'clock  this  morning." 

"  Then  I  heard  him  !  " 

"  Heard  him  ?  " 

"  Heard  him  die  !  " 

"  You  heard  him  die  ?     What  did  you  hear  ?  " 

"  A  sound  I  had  heard  once  before  in  my  life — at  the 
death-bed  of  my  mother.  I  could  not  identify  it — though  I 
recognized  it.  Then  the  dog  howled  :  you  remarked  it.  I 
did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  tell  you  what  1  had  heard  a 
little  earlier."     She  looked  agonized. 

"  It  would  have  been  useless,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  "All 
was  over  by  that  time."  She  addressed  herself  as  much  as 
Cytherea  when  she  continued,  "Is  it  a  Providence  who  sent 
you  here  at  this  juncture  that  I  might  not  be  left  entirely 
alone  ?" 

Till  this  instant  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  forgotten  the  reason 
of  Cytherea' s  seclusion  in  her  own  room.  So  had  Cytherea 
herself.     The  fact  now  recurred  to  both  in  one  moment. 

"Do  you  still  wish  to  go?"  said  Miss  Aldclyft'e  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  now,"  Cytherea  had  remarked  simul- 
taneously'with  the  other's  question.     She  was  pondering  on 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


95 


the  strange  likeness  which  Miss  Aldclyffe's  bereavement  bore 
to  her  own  :  it  had  the  appearance  of  being  still  another  call 
to  her  not  to  forsake  tl.is  woman  so  linked  to  her  life,  for  the 
sake  of  any  trivial  vexation. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  held  her  almost  as  a  lover  would  have  held 
her,  and  said  musingly, — 

"  We  get  more  and  more  into  one  groove.  I  now  am  left 
fatherless  and  motherless  as  you  were."  Other  ties  lay  be- 
hind in  her  thoughts,  but  she  did  not  mention  them. 

"  You  loved  your  father,  Cytherea,  and  wept  for  him  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  I  did.     Poor  papa  !  " 

"  I  was  always  at  variance  with  mine,  and  can't  weep  for 
him  now  !  But  you  must  stay  here  always  and  make  a  bet- 
ter woman  of  me." 

The  compact  was  thus  sealed,  and  Cytherea,  in  spite  of 
the  failure  of  her  advertisements,  was  installed  as  a  veritable 
Companion.  And,  once  more  in  the  history  of  human  en- 
deavor, a  position  which  it  was  impossible  to  reach  by  any 
direct  attempt,  was  come  to  by  the  seeker's  swerving  from 
the  path,  and  regarding  the  original  object  as  one  of  second- 
ary importance. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  EVENTS  OF  EIGHTEEN  DAYS. 
§  I.  August  the  seventeenth. 

THE  time  of  day  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
The  place  was  the  lady's  study  or  boudoir,  Knapwater 
House.  The  person  was  Miss  Aldclyffe  sitting  there  alone, 
clothed  in  deep  mourning. 

The  funeral  of  the  old  Captain  had  taken  place,  and  his 
will  had  been  read.  It  was  very  concise,  and  had  been  exe- 
cuted about  five  years  previous  to  his  death.  It  was  attested 
by  his  solicitors,  Messrs.  Nytlleton  and  Tayling,  of  Lin- 
coln's-Inn-Fields.  The  whole  of  his  estate,  real  and  per- 
sonal, was  bequeathed  to  his  daughter  Cytherea,  for  her  sole 
and  absolute  use,  subject  only  to  the  payment  of  a  legacy 
to  the  rector,  their  relative,  and  a  few  small  amounts  to  the 
servants. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  not  chosen  the  easiest  chair  of  her 
boudoir  to  sit  in,  or  even  a  chair  of  ordinary  comfort ;  but 
an  uncomfortable,  high,  narrow-backed,  oak-framed  and 
seated  chair,  which  was  allowed  to  remain  in  the  room  only 
on  the  ground  of  being  a  companion  in  artistic  quaintness 
to  an  old  coffer  beside  it,  and  was  never  used  except  to 
stand  in  to  reach  for  a  book  from  the  highest  row  of  shelves. 
But  she  had  sat  erect  in  this  chair  for  more  than  an  hour, 
for  the  reason  that  she  was  utterly  unconscious  of  what  her 
actions  and  bodily  feelings  were.  The  chair  had  stood 
nearest  her  path  on  entering  the  room,  and  she  had  gone  to 
it  in  a  dream. 

She  sat  in  the  attitude  which  denotes  unflagging,  intense, 
concentrated  thought — as  if  she  were  cast  in  bronze.  Her 
feet  were  together,  her  body  bent  a  little  forward,  and  quite 
unsupported  by  the  back  of  the  chair  ;  her  hands  on  her 
knees,  her  eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  corner  of  a  footstool. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


97 


At  last  she  moved  and  tapped  her  fingers  upon  the  table 
at  her  side.  Her  pent-uj)  ideas  had  finally  found  some 
channel  to  advance  in.  Motions  became  more  and  more 
frequent  as  she  labored  to  carry  farther  and  farther  the  prob- 
lem which  occupied  her  brain.  She  sat  back  and  drew  a 
long  breath  :  she  sat  sideways  and  leant  her  forehead  upon 
her  hand.  Later  still  she  arose,  walked  up  and  down  the 
room — at  first  abstractedly,  with  her  features  as  firmly  set  as 
ever  ;  but  by  degrees  her  brow  relaxed,  her  footsteps  be- 
came lighter  and  more  leisurely  ;  her  head  rode  gracefully 
and  was  no  longer  bowed.  She  plumed  herself  like  a  swan 
after  exertion, 

"Yes,"  she  said  aloud.  "To  get  hirfi  here  without  letting 
him  know  that  I  have  any  other  object  than  that  of  getting 
a  useful  man — that's  the  difficulty — and  that  1  think  I  can 
master." 

She  rang  for  the  new  maid,  a  placid  woman  of  forty,  with 
a  few  gray  hairs. 

"  Ask  Miss  Graye  if  she  can  come  to  me." 

Cytherea  was  not  far  offi  and  came  in. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  architects  and  surveyors  ?  " 
said  Miss  Aldclyflfe,  abruptly. 

"Know anything?"  replied  Cytherea,  poising  herself  on 
her  toe  to  consider  the  compass  of  the  question. 

"  Yes — know  anything,"  said  Miss  Aldclyfie. 

"  Owen  is  an  architect  and  surveyor's  clerk,"  the  maiden 
said,  and  thought  of  somebody  else  who  was  likewise. 

"  Yes  :  that's  why  I  asked  you.  What  are  the  different 
kinds  of  work  comprised  in  an  architect's  practice?  They 
lay  out  estates,  and  superintend  the  various  works  done  upon 
them,  I  should  think,  among  other  things  ?  " 

"  Those  are,  more  properly,  a  land  or  building  steward's 
duties — at  least  I  have  always  imagined  so.  Country  archi- 
tects include  those  things  in  their  practice  ;  city  architects 
don't." 

"  I  know  that.  But  a  steward's  is  an  indefinite  fast-and- 
loose  profession,  it  seems  to  me.  Shouldn't  you  think  that 
a  man  who  had  been  brought  up  as  an  architect  would  do 
for  a  steward  ?  " 

Cytherea  had  doubts  whether  an  archil  ect  pure  would 
do. 


p8  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  chief  pleasure  connected  with  asking  an  opinion  liei 
in  not  adopting  it.     Miss  Aldclyffe  replied  decisively : 

"  Nonsense  ;  of  course  he  would.  Your  brother  Owen 
makes  plans  for  country  buildings — such  as  cottages,  stables, 
homesteads,  and  so  on  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  does." 

"And  superintends  the  building  of  them  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  will  soon," 

"  And  he  surveys  land  ?  " 

"  O  yes." 

"  And  he  knows  about  hedges  and  ditches — how  wide 
they  ought  to  be,  boundaries,  levelling,  planting  trees  to 
keep  away  the  winds,  measuring  timber,  houses  for  ninety- 
nine  years,  and  such  things  ?  " 

*'  I  have  never  heard  him  say  that ;  but  I  think  Mr,  Grad- 
field  does  those  things,  Owen,  I  am  afraid,  is  inexperienced 
as  yet." 

"  Yes  ;  your  brother  is  not  old  enough  for  such  a  post  yet, 
of  course.  And  then  there  are  rent  days,  the  audit  and 
winding-up  of  tradesmen's  accounts.  I  am  afraid,  Cytherea, 
you  don't  know  much  more  about  the  matter  than  I  do  my- 
self.   I  am  going   out  just  now,"   she   continued. 

"  I  shall  not  want  you  to  walk  with  me  to-day.  Run  away  till 
dinner-time." 

Miss  Aldclyffe  went  out  of  doors,  and  down  the  steps  to 
the  lawn  ;  then  turning  to  the  right,  through  a  shrubbery, 
she  opened  a  wicket  and  passed  into  a  neglected  and  leafy 
carriage-drive  leading  down  the  hill.  This  she  followed  till 
she  reached  the  point  of  its  greatest  depression,  which  was 
also  the  lowest  ground  in  the  whole  grove. 

The  trees  here  were  so  interlaced,  and  hung  their  branches  so 
neai  the  ground,  that  a  whole  summer's  day  Avas  scarcely  long 
enough  to  change  the  air  pervading  the  spot  from  its  normal 
state  of  coolness  to  even  a  temporary  warmth.  The  unvary- 
ing freshness  was  helped  by  the  nearness  of  the  ground  to 
the  level  of  the  springs,  and  by  the  presence  of  a  deep,  slug, 
gish  stream  close  by,  equally  well  shaded  by  bushes  and  a 
high  wall.  Following  the  road,  which  now  ran  along  at  the 
margin  of  the  stream,  slie  came  to  an  opening  in  the  wall,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  water,  revealing  a  large  rectangular  nook 
from  which  the  stream  proceeded,  covered  with  froth,  and 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  99 

accompanied  by  a  dull  roar.  Tmo  more  steps,  and  she  was 
opposite  the  nook,  in  fall  view  of  the  cascade  forming  its 
furtlKr  boundary.  Over  the  top  could  be  seen  the  bright 
outer  sky  in  the  form  of  a  crescent  caused  by  the  curve  of  a 
bridge  across  the  rapids  and  the  trees  above. 

Beautiful  as  was  the  scene  she  did  not  look  in  that  direc- 
tion. The  same  standing  ground  afforded  another  prospect, 
straight  in  the  front,  less  sombre  than  the  water  on  the  right 
or  the  trees  on  the  left.  The  avenue  and  grove  which 
flanked  it  abruptly  terminated  a  few  yards  ahead,  where  the 
ground  began  to  rise,  and  on  the  remote  edge  of  the  green- 
sward thus  laid  open,  stood  all  that  remained  of  the  original 
manor-house,  to  which  the  dark  marginal  line  of  the  trees  in 
the  avenue  formed  an  adequate  and  well-fitting  frame.  It 
was  the  picture  thus  presented  that  was  now  interesting  Miss 
Aldclyfte — not  artistically  or  historically,  but  practically — as 
regarded  its  fitness  for  adai)tation  to  modern  requirements. 

In  front,  detached  from  everything  else,  rose  the  most  an- 
cient portion  of  the  structure- — an  old  arched  gateway,  flanked 
by  the  bases  of  two  small  towers,  and  nearly  covered  with 
creepers,  which  had  clambered  over  the  eaves  of  the  sinking 
roof,  and  uj)  the  gable  to  the  crest  of  the  Aldclyffe  family 
perched  on  the  ai)ex.  Behind  this,  at  a  distance  of  ten  or 
twenty  yards,  came  the  only  portion  of  the  main  building 
that  still  existed — an  Elizabethan  fragment,  consisting  of  as 
mucli  as  could  be  contained  under  three  gables  and  a  cross 
roof  behind.  Against  the  wall  could  be  seen  ragged  lines  in- 
dicating the  form  of  other  destroyed  gables  which  had  once 
joined  it  there.  The  muUioned  and  transomed  windows, 
containing  five  or  six  lights,  were  mostly  bricked  up  to  the 
extent  of  two  or  three,  and  the  remaining  portion  fitted  with 
cottage  window  frames  carelessly  inserted,  to  suit  the  pur- 
pose to  which  the  old  place  was  now  applied,  it  being  par- 
titioned out  into  small  rooms  downstairs  to  form  cottages 
for  two  laborers  and  their  families  ;  the  upper  portion  was 
arranged  as  a  storehouse  for  divers  kinds  of  roots  and  fruit. 

The  owner  of  the  picturesque  spot,  after  her  survey  from 
this  point,  went  up  to  the  walls  and  walked  into  the  old 
court,  where  the  paving  stones  were  pushed  sideways  and 
upwards  by  the  thrust  of  the  grasses  between  them.  Two 
or  three  little  children,  with  their  fi  igers  in  their  mouths. 


lOO  DESPERATE  RE  MED  I  EX 

came  out  to  look  at  her,  and  then  ran  in  to  tell  their  mothers 
in  loud  tones  of  secrecy  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  coming. 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  however,  did  not  come  in.  She  concluded 
her  survey  of  the  exterior  by  making  a  complete  circuit  of 
the  building  ;  then  turned  into  a  nook  a  short  distance  off, 
where  round  and  square  timber,  a  saw-pit,  planks,  grind- 
stones, heaps  of  building  stone  and  brick,  exj^lained  that  this 
spot  was  the  centre  of  operations  for  the  building  work  done 
on  the  estate. 

She  paused,  and  looked  around.  A  man  who  had  seen 
her  from  the  window  of  the  workshops  behind,  came  out  and 
respectfully  lifted  his  hat  to  her.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
been  seen  walking  outside  the  house  since  her  father's 
death. 

"  Burden,  could  the  Old  House  be  made  a  decent  resi- 
dence of,  without  much  trouble  ?  "  she  inquired. 

The  tradesman  considered,  and  spoke  as  each  considera- 
tion completed  itself. 

"You  don't  forget,  madam,  that  two-thirds  of  the  place 
is  already  pulled  down,  or  gone  to  ruin  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  I  know." 

"  And  that  what's  left  may  almost  as  well  be,  madam." 

"  Why  may  it  ?  " 

"'Twas  so  cut  up  inside  when  they  made  it  into  cottages, 
that  the  whole  carcass  is  full  of  cracks." 

"  Still  by  pulling  down  the  inserted  jiartitions,  and  adding 
a  little  outside,  it  could  be  made  to  answer  the  purpose  of  an 
ordinary  six  or  eight  roomed  house  ?  " 

"Yes,  madam." 

"About  what  would  it  cost  ?  "  was  the  question  which  had 
invariably  come  next  in  every  communication  of  this  kind,  to 
which  the  clerk  of  works  had  been  a  party  during  his  whole 
experience.  To  his  surprise,  Miss  Aldclyffe  did  not  put  it. 
The  man  thought  her  object  in  altering  an  old  house  must 
have  been  an  unusually  absorbing  one  not  to  prompt  what 
was  so  instinctive  in  owners  as  hardly  to  require  any  prompt- 
ing at  all. 

"  Thank  you  :  that  is  sufficient.  Burden,"  she  said.  "  You 
will  understand  that  it  is  not  unlikely  some  alteration  may 
be  made  here  in  a  short  time,  with  reference  to  the  manage- 
ment of  afifairs." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  10 1 

Burden  said  "  Yes,"  in  a  complex  voice,  and  looked  un- 
easy. 

"  During  the  life  of  Captain  Aldclyffe,  with  you  as  the 
foreman  of  works,  and  he  himself  as  his  own  steward,  every- 
thing worked  well.  But  now  it  may  be  necessary  to  have  a 
steward,  whose  management  will  encroach  further  upon 
things  which  have  hitherto  been  left  in  your  hands  than  did 
your  late  master's.  What  I  mean  is,  that  he  will  directly 
and  in  detail  superintend  all." 

"  Then — 1  shall  not  be  wanted,  madam  ?  "  he  faltered. 

"  O  yes  ;  if  you  like  to  stay  on  as  foreman  in  the  yard  and 
workshops  only.  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  you.  However, 
you  had  better  consider.  I  will  send  for  you  in  a  few 
days." 

Leaving  him  to  suspense,  and  all  the  ills  that  came  in  its 
train — distracted  application  to  his  duties,  and  an  undefined 
number  of  sleepless  nights,  and  untasted  dinners — Miss 
Aldclyffe  looked  at  her  watch  and  returned  to  the  House. 
Slie  was  about  to  keep  an  appointment  widi  her  solicitor,  Mr. 
Nyttleton,  who  had  been  to  Creston,  and  was  coming  to 
Knapwater  on  his  way  back  to  London. 


§  2.  August  the  twentieth. , 

On  the  Saturday  subsequent  to  Mr.  Nyttleton's  visit  to 
Knapwater  House,  the  subjoined  advertisement  appeared  in 
the  Field  and  the  Builder  newspapers  : — 

"  Land  Steward. 

"  A  gentleman  of  integrity  and  professional  skill  is  required 
immediately  for  the  iMANAGement  of  an  estate,  containing 
about  8oo  acres,  upon  which  agricultural  improvements  and 
the  erection  of  buildings  are  contemplated.  He  must  be  a 
man  of  superior  education,  unmarried,  and  not  more  than 
thirty  years  of  age.  Considerable  preference  will  be  showr. 
for  one  vvho  possesses  an  artistic  as  well  as  a  practical  knowl- 
edge of  planning  and  laying  out.  The  remuneration  will 
consist  of  a  salary  of  ^^220,  with  the  old  manor-house  as  a 


102  DEStERATE  REMEDIES. 

residence.  Address  Messrs.  Nyttleton  and  Tayling,  solicit 
tors,  Lincoln's-Inn-Fields." 

A  copy  of  each  pa])er  was  sent  ':o  Miss  Aldclyffe  on  the 
day  of  publication.  The  same  evening  she  told  Cytherea 
that  she  was  advertising  for  a  steward,  who  would  live  at  the 
old  manor-house,  showing  her  the  papers  containing  the 
announcement. 

What  was  the  drift  of  that  remark  ?  thought  the  maiden  ; 
or  was  it  merely  made  to  her  in  confidential  intercourse,  as 
other  arrangements  were  told  her  daily.  Yet  it  seemed  to 
have  more  meaning  than  common.  She  remembered  the  con- 
versation about  architects  and  surveyors,  and  her  brother 
Owen.  Miss  Aldclyffe  knew  that  his  situation  was  precarious, 
that  he  was  well  educated  and  practical,  and  was  applying 
himself  heart  and  soul  to  the  details  of  the  profession  and 
all  connected  with  it.  Miss  Aldclyffe  might  be  ready  to 
take  him  if  he  could  complete  successfully  with  others  who 
would  reply.     She  hazarded  a  question  : — 

"Would  it  be  desirable  for  Owen  to  answer  it  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  peremptorily. 

A  flat  answer  of  this  kind  had  ceased  to  alarm  Cytherea. 
Miss  Aldclyffe's  blunt  mood  was  not  her  worst.  Cytherea 
thought  of  another  man,  vvliose  name,  in  spite  of  resolves, 
tears,  renunciations,  and  injured  pride,  lingered  in  her  ears 
like  an  old  familiar  strain.  That  man  was  qualified  for  a 
stewardship  under  a  king. 

"  Would  it  be  of  any  use  if  Edward  Springrove  were  to 
answer  it?"  she  said,  resolutely  enunciating  the  name. 

"  None  whatever,"  replied  Miss  Aldclyffe,  again  in  the 
same  decided  tone. 

"  You  are  very  unkind  to  speak  in  that  way." 

"  Now  don't  pout  like  a  goosie,  as  you  are.  I  don't  want 
men  like  either  of  them,  for,  of  course,  I  must  look  tD  the 
good  of  the  estate  rather  than  to  that  of  any  individual.  The 
man  I  want  must  have  been  more  specially  educated.  I 
have  told  you  that  we  are  going  to  London  next  week  ;  it  is 
mostly  on  this  account." 

Cytherea  thus  found  that  she  had  mistaken  the  drift  of 
Miss  Aldclyffe's  peculiar  explicitness  on  the  subject  of  adver- 
tising, and  v/rote  to  tell  her  brother  that  if  he  saw  the  notice 
it  would  be  useless  to  reply. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  103 


§  3.  August  the  twenty-fifth. 

Five  days  after  the  above-mentioned  dialogue  took  place 
they  went  to  London,  and,  with  scarcely  a  minute's  pause, 
to  the  solicitor's  offices  in  Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. 

They  alighted  opposite  one  of  the  characteristic  entrances 
about  the  place — a  gate  which  was  never,  and  could  never 
be,  closed,  flanked  by  lamp-standards  carrying  no  lamp. 
Rust  was  the  only  active  agent  to  be  seen  there  at  this  time  of 
the  day  and  year.  The  palings  along  the  front  were  rusted 
away  at  their  base  to  the  thinness  of  wires,  and  the  succes- 
sive coats  of  paint,  with  which  they  were  overlaid  in  by-gone 
days,  had  been  completely  underminded  by  the  same  insidi- 
ous canker,  which  lifted  off  the  paint  in  flakes,  leaving  the 
raw  surface  of  the  iron  on  palings,  standards,  and  gate 
hinges,  of  a  staring  blood  red. 

But  once  inside  the  railings  the  picture  changed.  The 
court  and  offices  were  a  complete  contrast  to  the  grand 
ruin  of  the  outwork  which  enclosed  them.  Well-painted 
respectability  extended  over,  within,  and  around  the  door- 
step ;  and  in  the  carefully  swept  yard  not  a  particle  of  dust 
was  visible. 

Mr.  Nyttleton,  who  had  just  come  up  from  Margate, 
where  he  was  staying  with  his  family,  was  standing  at  the 
top  of  his  own  staircase  as  the  pair  ascended.  He  politely 
took  them  inside. 

"Is  there  a  comfortable  room  in  which  this  young  lady 
can  sit  during  our  interview?"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

It  was  rather  a  favorite  habit  of  hers  to  make  much  of 
Cytherea  when  they  were  out,  and  snub  her  for  it  afterwards 
when  they  got  home. 

"  Certainly — Mr.  Tayling's."  Cytherea  was  shown  into 
an  inner  room. 

Social  definitions  are  all  made  relatively :  an  absolute 
datum  is  only  imagined.  The  small  gentry  about  Knap- 
water  seemed  unpractised  to  Miss  Aldclyffe,  Miss  Aldclyffe 
herself  seemed  unpractised  to  Mr.  Nyttleton's  experienced 
old  eyes. 

"  Now  then,"  the  lady  said,  when  she  was  alone  with  the 
lawyer;  "  what  is  the  result  of  our  advertisement  ?" 


I04  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

It  was  late  summer :  the  estate-agency,  building,  engineer' 
ing,  and  surveying  worlds  were  dull.  There  were  forty-five 
replies  to  the  advertisement. 

Mr.  Nyttleton  spread  them  one  by  one  before  Miss  Ald- 
clyfFe.  "  You  will  probably  like  to  read  some  of  them  your- 
self, madam  ?  "  he  said. 

"Yes,  certainly,"  said  she. 

"I  will  not  trouble  you  with  those  which  are  from  persons 
manifestly  unfit  at  first  sight,  "  he  continued  ;  and  began 
selecting  from  the  heap  twos  and  threes  which  he  had 
marked,  collecting  others  into  his  hand.  "  The  man  we 
want  lies  among  these,  if  my  judgment  doesn't  deceive  me, 
and  from  them  it  would  be  advisable  to  select  a  certain 
number  to  be  communicated  with." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  every  one — only  just  to  glance  them 
over — exactly  as  they  came,"  she  said,  suasively. 

He  looked  as  if  he  thought  this  a  waste  of  his  time,  but 
dismissing  his  sentiment  unfolded  each  singly  and  laid  it 
before  her.  As  he  laid  them  out,  it  struck  him  that  she 
studied  them  quite  as  rapidly  as  he  could  spread  them.  He 
slyly  glanced  up  from  the  outer  corner  of  his  eye  to  hers,  and 
noticed  that  all  she  did  was  look  at  the  name  at  the  bottom  of 
the  letter,  and  then  put  the  enclosure  aside  without  further 
ceremony.  He  thought  this  an  odd  way  of  inquiring  into  the 
merits  of  forty-five  men,  who  at  considerable  trouble  gave 
in  detail  reasons  why  they  believed  themselves  well  qualified 
for  a  certain  post.  She  came  to  the  final  one,  and  put  it 
down  with  the  rest. 

Then  the  lady  said  that  in  her  opinion  it  would  be  best  to 
get  as  many  replies  as  they  possibly  could  before  selecting — 
"  to  give  us  a  wider  choice.  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Nyttle- 
ton?" 

It  seemed  '.o  him,  he  said,  that  a  greater  number  than 
those  they  al/eady  had  would  scarcely  be  necessary,  and  if 
they  waited  for  more,  there  would  be  this  disadvantage 
attending  it,  that  some  of  those  they  now  could  command 
would  possibly  not  be  available. 

"  Never  mind,  we  will  run  that  risk,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe. 
"  Let  the  advertisement  be  inserted  once  more,  and  then  we 
wi'l  certainly  settle  the  matter." 

Mr.  Nyttleton  bowed,  and  seemed  to  think  Miss  Aldclyflfe, 


Desperate  remedies. 


105 


for  a  single  woman,  and  one  who  till  so  very  recently  had 
never  concerned  herself  with  business  of  any  kind,  a  very 
meddlesome  client.  But  she  was  rich  and  handsome  still. 
"She's  a  new  broom  in  estate-management  as  yet,"  he 
thought.  "She  will  soon  get  tired  of  this,"  and  he  j^arted 
from  her  without  a  sentiment  which  could  mar  his  habitual 
blandness. 

The  two  ladies  then  proceeded  westward.  Dismissing  the 
cab  in  Waterloo  Place,  they  went  along  Pall  Mall  on  foot, 
where  in  place  of  the  usual  well-dressed  clubbists — rubicund 
with  alcohol — were  to  be  seen  in  linen  pinafores,  flocks  of 
house-])ainters  pallid  from  white  lead.  When  they  had 
reached  the  Green  Park,  Cytherea  proposed  that  they 
should  sit  down  awhile  under  the  young  elms  at  the  brow  of 
the  hill.  This  they  did — the  growl  of  Piccadilly  on  their 
left  hand — the  monastic  secliision  of  the  Palace  on  their 
right :  before  them,  the  clock  tower  of  the  Houses  of  Par- 
liament, standing  forth  with  a  metallic  lustre  against  a  livid 
I.ambeth  sky. 

Miss  AldclyfTe  still  carried  in  her  hand  a  copy  of  the 
newspaper,  and  while  Cytherea  had  been  interesting  herself 
in  the  picture  around,  glanced  again  at  the  advertise- 
ment. 

She  heaved  a  slight  sigh,  and  began  to  fold  it  up  again. 
In  the  action  her  eye  caught  sight  of  two  consecutive  adver- 
tisements on  the  cover,  one  relating  to  some  lecture  on  Art, 
and  addressed  to  members  of  the  Society  of  Architects. 
The  other  emanated  from  the  same  source,  but  was  ad- 
dressed to  the  public,  and  stated  that  the  exhibition  of  draw- 
ings at  the  Society's  rooms  would  close  at  the  end  of  that 
week. 

Her  eye  lighted  up.  She  sent  Cytherea  back  to  the  hotel 
in  a  cab,  then  turned  round  by  Piccadilly  into  Bond  Street, 
and  proceeded  to  the  rooms  of  the  Society,  The  secretary 
was  sitting  in  the  lobby.  After  making  her  payment,  and 
looking  at  a  few  of  the  drawings  on  the  walls,  in  the  com- 
pany of  three  gentlemen,  the  only  other  visitors  to  the 
exhibition,  she  urned  back  and  asked  if  she  might  be  allowed 
to  see  a  list  of  the  members.  She  was  a  little  connected 
with  the  architectural  world,  she  said,  with  a  smile,  and  was 
interested  in  some  of  the  names. 


I06  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  Here  it  is,  madam,''  he  replied,  politely  handing  her  a 
pamphlet  containing  the  names. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  turned  the  leaves  till  she  came  to  the  letter 
M.  The  name  she  hoped  to  find  there  was  there,  with  the 
address  ai>i)ended,  as  was  the  case  with  all  the  rest. 

The  address  was  at  some  chambers  in  a  street  not  far 
from  Charing  Cross.  "  Chambers "  as  a  residence,  had 
always  been  assumed  by  the  lady  to  imply  the  condition  of 
a  bachelor.     She  murmured  two  words,  "There  still." 

Another  request  had  yet  to  be  made,  but  it  was  of  a  more 
noticeable  kind  than  the  first,  and  might  compromise  the 
secrecy  with  which  she  wished  to  act  through  tliis  episode. 
Her  object  was  to  get  one  of  the  envelopes  lying  on  the 
secretary's  table,  stamped  with  the  die  of  the  Society ;  and 
in  order  to  get  it  she  was  about  to  ask  if  she  might  write  a 
note. 

But  the  Secretary's  back  chanced  to  be  turned,  and  he 
now  went  towards  one  of  the  men  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  who  had  called  him  to  ask  some  question  relating  to 
an  etching  on  the  wall.  Quick  as  thought,  Miss  Aldclyffe 
stood  before  the  table,  slipped  her  hand  behind  her,  took 
one  of  the  envelopes  and  put  it  in  her  pocket. 

She  sauntered  round  the  rooms  for  two  or  three  minutes 
longer,  then  withdrew  and  returned  to  her  hotel. 

Here  she  cut  the  Knapwater  advertisement  from  the 
paper,  put  it  into  the  envelope  she  had  stolen,  embossed 
with  the  Society's  stamp,  and  directed  it  in  a  round  clerkly 
hand  to  the  address  she  had  seen  in  the  list  of  members' 
names  submitted  to  her  : — 

^NEAS  MANSTON,  Esq., 

Wykeham  Chambers, 

Spring  Gardens. 

This  ended  her  first  day's  work  in  London. 

§  4.  From  August  the  twenty  sixth  to  September  the  first. 

The  two  Cythereas  continued  at  the  Westminster  Hotel, 
Miss  Aldclyffe  informing  her  companion  that  business  would 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  107 

detain  them  in  London  another  week.  The  days  ])assed  as 
slowly  and  drearily  as  days  can  pass  in  a  city  at  that  time 
of  the  year,  the  shuttered  windows  about  the  squares  and 
terraces  confronting  their  eyes  like  the  white  and  ;  ightless 
orbs  of  a  blind  man.  On  Thursday  Mr.  Nyttleton  called, 
bringing  the  whole  number  of  replies  to  the  advertisement. 
Cytherea  was  present  at  the  interview,  by  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
request — either  from  whim  or  design. 

Ten  additional  letters  were  the  result  of  the  second 
week's  insertion,  making  fifty-five  in  all.  Miss  Aldclyffe 
looked  them  over  as  before.     One  was  signed — 

^NEAS   MANSTON, 

133,  DuRNGATE  Street,' 

LlVERPOOI,. 

"  Now  then,  Mr.  Nyttleton,  will  you  make  a  selection, 
and  I  will  add  one  or  two,"  Miss  Aldclyffe  .said. 

Mr.  Nyttleton  scanned  the  whole  heap  of  letters,  testimo- 
nials, and  references,  sorting  them  into  two  heaps.  Man- 
ston's  missive,  after  a  mere  glance,  was  thrown  amongst  the 
summarily  rejected  ones. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  read,  or  pretended  to  read  after  the  law- 
yer. When  he  had  finished,  five  lay  in  the  group  he  had 
selected.  "  Would  you  like  to  add  to  the  number  ? "  he 
said,  turning  to  the  lady. 

"  No,"  she  said,  carelessly.  "  Well,  two  or  three  addi- 
tional ones  rather  took  my  fancy,"  she  added,  searching  for 
some  in  the  larger  collection. 

She  drew  out  three.     One  was  Manston's. 

"These  eight,  then,  shall  be  communicated  with,"  said 
the  lawyer,  taking  up  the  eight  letters  and  placing  them  by 
themselves. 

They  stood  up.  **  If  I  myself,  madam,  were  only  con- 
cerned personally,"  he  said  in  an  off-hand  way,  and  holding 
up  a  letter  singly  ;  "  I  should  choose  this  man  unhesitatingly. 
He  writes  honestly,  is  not  afraid  to  name  what  he  does  not 
consider  himself  well  acquainted  with — a  rare  thing  to  find 
in  answers  to  advertisements  ;  he  is  well  recommended,  and 
possesses    some    qualities    rarely   found    in    combination. 


I08  DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Oddly  enough,  he  is  not  really  a  steward.  He  was  bred  a 
farmer,  studied  building  affairs,  served  on  an  estate  for  some 
time,  then  went  with  an  architect,  and  is  now  well  qualified 
as  architect,  estate  agent,  and  surveyor.  That  man  is  sure 
to  have  a  fine  head  for  a  manor  like  yours."  He  tapped 
the  letter  as  he  spoke.  "Yes,  I  should  choose  him  without 
hesitation — speaking  personally." 

"  And  I  think,"  she  said,  artificially,  "  I  should  choose 
this  one  as  a  matter  of  mere  personal  whim,  which,  of 
course,  can't  be  given  way  to  when  practical  questions  have 
to  be  considered." 

Cytherea,  after  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  then 
at  the  newspapers,  had  become  interested  in  the  proceedings 
between  the  clever  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  the  keen  old  lawyer, 
which  reminded  her  of  a  game  at  cards.  She  looked  inquir- 
ingly at  the  two  letters — oi\e  in  Miss  Aldclyfi'e's  hand,  the 
other  in  Mr.  Nyttleton's. 

"What  is  the  name  of  your  man  ?  "  said  Miss  Aldclyffe, 

"  His  name — "  said  the  lawyer,  looking  down  the  page  : 
"  What  is  his  name — it  is  Edward  Springrove." 

Miss  Aldclyffe  glanced  towards  Cytherea,  who  was  getting 
red  and  pale  by  turns.  She  looked  imploringly  at  Miss 
Aldclyffe. 

"  The  name  of  my  man,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  looking  at 
her  letter  in  turn ;  "  is,  I  think — yes — .^neas  Mansion." 


§  5.  September  the  third. 

The  next  morning  but  one  was  appointed  for  the  inter- 
views, which  were  to  be  at  the  lawyer's  offices.  Mr.  Nyftle- 
ton  and  Mr.  Tayling  were  both  in  town  for  the  day,  and  the 
candidates  were  admitted  one  by  one  into  a  private  room. 
In  the  window  recess  was  seated  Miss  Aldclyffe,  wearing  her 
veil  down. 

The  lawyer  had,  in  his  letters  to  the  selected  number, 
timed  each  candidate  at  an  interval  of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes 
from  those  jireceding  and  following.  They  were  shown  in 
as  they  arrived,  and  had  short  conversations  with  Mr.  Nyt- 
tleton — terse,  and  to  the  point.  Miss  Aldclyffe  neither 
moved   nor  spoke  during  this   proceeding ;  it  might  have 


DESPERATE  V.EMEDIES. 


log 


been  supposed  that  she  was  quite  unmindful  of  it,  had  it  not 
been  for  what  was  revealed  by  a  keen  penetration  of  the 
veil  covering  her  countenance — the  rays  from  two  bright 
black  eyes,  directed  towards  the  lawyer  and  his  interlo- 
cutor. 

Springrove  came  fifdi ;  Mansion  seventh.  When  the  ex 
amination  of  all  was  ended,  and  the  last  man  had  retired, 
Nyttleton,  again  as  at  the  former  time,  blandly  asked  his 
client  which  of  the  eight  she  personally  preferred.  "1  still 
think  the  fifth  we  spoke  to,  Springrove,  the  man  whose  letter 
I  pounced  upon  at  first,  to  be  by  far  the  best  qualified,  in 
short,  most  suitable  generally." 

"  1  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  differ  from  you  ;  I  lean  to  my 
first  notion  still — that  Mr. — Mr.  Manston  is  most  desirable 
in  tone  and  bearing,  and  even  specifically,  I  think  he  would 
suit  me  best  in  the  long  run." 

Mr.  Nytdeton  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  whitened 
wall  of  the  court. 

"  Of  course,  madam,  your  opinion  may  be  perfectly  sound 
and  reliable ;  a  sort  of  instinct,  I  know,  often  leads  ladies  by 
a  short  cut  to  conclusions  truer  than  those  come  to  by  men 
after  laborious  roundabout  calculations,  based  on  long  ex- 
perience.    I  must  say  I  shouldn't  recommend  him." 

"  Why,  pray  ?  " 

"  Well,  let  us  look  first  at  his  letter  of  answer  to  the  ad- 
vertisement. He  didn't  reply  till  the  last  insertion  ;  that's 
one  thing.  His  letter  is  bold  and  frank  in  tone,  so  bold  and 
frank  that  the  second  thought  after  reading  it  is  that  not 
honesty,  but  unscriipulousness  of  conscience  dictated  it.  It 
is  written  in  an  indifferent  mood,  as  if  he  felt  that  he  was 
humbugging  us  in  his  statement  that  he  was  the  right  man 
for  such  an  office,  that  he  tried  hard  to  get  it  only  as  a  mat- 
ter of  form  which  required  that  he  should  neglect  no  oppor- 
tunity that  came  in  his  way." 

"  You  may  be  right,  Mr.  Nyttleton,  but  I  don't  quite  see 
the  grounds  of  your  reasoning." 

"  He  has  been,  as  you  perceive,  almost  entirely  used  to 
the  office  duties  of  a  ci'iy  architect,  the  experience  we  don't 
want.  You  want  a  man  whose  acquaintance  with  rural 
landed  properties  is  more  practical  and  closer — somebody 
who,  if  he  has  not  filled  exactly  such  an  office  before,  has 


no  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

lived  a  country  life,  knows  the  ins  and  outs  of  country  ten 
ancies,  building,  farming,  and  so  on." 

"  He's  by  far  the  most  intellectual  looking  of  thera 
all." 

"  Yes  ;  he  may  be — your  opinion,  madam,  is  worth  more 
than  mine  in  that  matter.  And  more  than  you  say,  he  is  a 
man  of  parts — his  brain-power  would  soon  enal  le  him  to 
master  details  and  fit  him  for  the  post,  I  don't  much  doubt 
that.  But  to  speak  clearly"  {here  his  words  started  off  at  a 
jog-trot)  "  I  wouldn'l-Jiun  the  risk  of  placing  the- ma nage- 
mcnt  of  an  estate  of  mine  in  his  hands  on  any  acgojint  what- 
ever.     There,  that's  flat  and  plain,  madam." 

"  But,  definitely,"  she  said,  with  a  show  of  impatience  ; 
"  what  is  your  reason  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  voluptuary  with  activity ;  which  is  a  very  bad 
form  of  man — as  bad  as  it  is  rare," 

"  Oh.  Thank  you  for  your  explicit  statement,  Mr.  Nyt- 
tleton,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  starting  a  little  and  flushing  with 
displeasure. 

Mr.  Nyltleton  nodded  slightly,  as  a  sort  of  neutral  motion, 
simply  signifying  a  receipt  of  the  information,  good  or  bad. 

"  And  I  really  think  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  trouble  you 
further  in  this,"  continued  the  lady.  "  He's  quite  good 
enough  for  a  little  insignificant  place  like  mine  at  Knap- 
water  ;  and  I  know  that  1  could  not  get  on  with  one  of  the 
others  for  a  single  month.     We'll  try  him." 

"  Certainly,  madam,"  said  the  lawyer.  And  Mr.  Manston 
was  written  to,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  the  successful  com- 
petitor. 

"  Did  3'ou  see  how  unmistakably  her  temper  was  getting 
the  better  of  her,  that  minute  you  were  in  the  room  i* "  said 
Nyttleton  to  Tayling,  when  their  client  had  left  the  house. 
Nyttleton  was  a  man  who  surveyed  everybody's  character 
in  a  sunless  and  shadowless  northern  light.  A  culpable  sly- 
ness, which  marked  him  as  a  boy,  had  been  moulded  by 
Time,  the  Improver,  into  honorable  circumspection. 

We  frequently  find  that  the  quality  which,  conjoined  with 
the  simplicity  of  the  child,  is  vice,  is  virtue  when  it  pervades 
the  knowledge  of  the  man. 

"She  was  as  near  as  damn-it  to  boiHng  over  when  I  added 
up  her  man,"  continued  Nyt'.leton.     "  His  handsome  face 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  \\\ 

is  his  qualification  in  her  eyes.  They  have  met  before ;  1 
saw  that." 

"  He  didn't  seem  conscious  of  it,"  said  the  junior, 

"He  didn't.  That  was  rather  puzzling  to  me.  But  still, 
if  ever  a  woman's  face  spoke  out  plainly  that  she  was  in  love 
with  a  man,  hers  did  that  she  was  with  him.  Poor  old  maid, 
she's  almost  old  enough  to  be  his  mother.  If  that  M anston's 
a  scliemer  he'll  marry  her,  as  sure  as  1  am  Nyttleton.  Let's 
hope  he's  honest,  however." 

"  I  don't  think  she's  in  love  with  him,"  said  Tayling.  He 
had  seen  but  little  of  the  pair,  and  yet  he  could  not  recon- 
cile what  he  had  noticed  in  Miss  Aldclyffe's  behavior  with 
idea  that  it  was  the  bearing  of  a  woman  towards  her  lover. 

"  Well,  your  experience  of  the  fiery  phenomenon  is  more 
recent  than  mine,"  rejoined  Nyttleton  carelessly.  "And 
you  may  remember  the  nature  of  it  best." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  EVENTS  OF    EIGHTEEN  DAYS. 
§  I.  From  the  third  to  the  nineteenth  of  September. 

MISS  ALDCLYFFE'S  tenderness  towards  Cytherea, 
between  the  hours  of  her  irascibihty,  increased,  till 
it  became  no  less  than  doting  fondness.  Like  Nature  in  the 
tropics,  with  her  hurricanes  and  the  subsequent  luxuriant 
vegetation  effacing  their  ravages,  Miss  Aldclyffe  compensated 
for  her  outbursts  by  excess  of  generosity  afterwards.  She 
seemed  to  be  completely  won  out  of  herself  by  close  contact 
with  a  young  woman  whose  modesty  was  absolutely  unim- 
paired, and  whose  artlessness  was  as  perfect  as  was  compat- 
ible with  the  complexity  necessary  to  produce  the  due 
charm  of  womanhood.  Cytherea,  on  her  part,  perceived 
with  honest  satisfaction  that  her  influence  for  good  over 
Miss  Aldcliffe  was  considerable.  Ideas  and  habits  peculiar 
to  the  younger,  which  the  elder  lady  had  originally  imitated 
in  a  mere  whim,  she  grew  in  course  of  time  to  take  a  posi- 
tive delight  in.  Among  others  were  evening  and  morning 
prayers,  dreaming  over  out-door  scenes,  learning  a  verse 
from  some  poem  whilst  dressing. 

Yet  try  to  force  her  sympathies  as  much  as  she  would, 
Cytherea  could  feel  no  more  than  thankful  for  this,  even  if 
she  always  felt  as  much  as  that.  The  mysterious  cloud 
hanging  over  the  past  life  of  her  companion,  of  which  the 
uncertain  light  already  thrown  upon  it  only  seemed  to  ren- 
der still  darker  the  unpenetrated  remainder,  nourished  in  her 
a  feeling  which  was  scarcely  too  slight  to  be  called  dread. 
She  would  have  infinitel}^  preferred  to  be  treated  distantly,  as 
the  mere  dependant,  by  such  a  changeable  nature — like  a 
fountain,  always  herself,  yet  always  another.  That  a  crime 
of  any  deep  dye  had  ever  been  perpetrated  or  participated  in 
by  her  namesake,  she  would  not  believe;  but  the  reckless 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  113 

adventuring  of  the  lady's  youth  seemed  connected  witli  deeds 
of  darkness  rather  than  hght. 

Sometimes  Miss  Aldclyffe  ai)pearcd  to  be  on  the  point  of 
making  some  absorbing  confidence,  but  reflection  invariably 
restrained  her.  Cytherea  hoped  that  such  a  contidence 
would  come  with  tiuie,  and  that  she  might  thus  be  a  means  of 
soothing  a  mind  which  had  obviously  known  extreme  sutTering. 

But  Miss  Aldclyffe's  reticence  concerning  her  past  was  not 
imitated  by  Cytherea,  Though  she  never  disclosed  the  one 
fact  of  her  knowledge  that  the  love-suit  between  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe  and  her  father  terminated  abnormally,  the  maiden's 
natural  ingenuousness  on  subjects  not  set  down  for  special 
guard  had  enabled  Miss  Aldclyffe  to  worm  from  her,  fragment 
by  fragment,  every  detail  of  her  father's  history,  Cytherea 
saw  how  deeply  Miss  Aldclyffe  sympathized — and  it  compen- 
sated her,  to  some  extent,  for  the  hasty  resentment  of  other 
times. 

Thus  uncertainly  she  lived  on.  It  was  perceived  by  the 
servants  of  the  house,  that  some  secret  bond  of  connection 
existed  between  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  her  companion.  But 
they  were  woman  and  woman,  not  woman  and  man,  the  facts 
were  ethereal  and  refined,  and  so  they  could  not  be  worked 
up  into  a  taking  story.  Whether,  as  critics  dispute,  a  super- 
natural machinery  be  necessary  to  an  epic  or  no,  a  carnal 
plot  is  decidedly  necessary  to  a  scandal. 

Another  letter  had  come  to  her  from  Edward — very  short, 
but  full  of  entreaty,  asking  why  she  would  not  write  just  one 
line — just  one  line  of  cold  friendship  at  least?  She  then 
allowed  herself  to  think,  little  by  little,  whether  she  had  not 
perhaps  been  too  harsh  with  him  ;  and  at  last  wondered  if  he 
were  really  much  to  blame  for  being  engaged  to  another 
woman.  "  Ah,  Brain,  there  is  one  in  me  stronger  than  you  !  " 
she  said.  The  young  maid  now  continually  pulled  oft  his 
letter,  read  it  and  re-read  it,  almost  crying  with  pity  the 
while,  to  think  what  wretched  suspense  he  must  be  enduring 
at  her  silence,  till  her  heart  chid  her  for  her  cruelty.  She  felt 
that  she  must  send  hi)n  a  line — one  little  line — just  a  wee 
line  to  keep  him  alive,  poor  thing  ;  sighing  like  Donna 
Clara : — 

"Ah,  were  he  now  before  me, 
In  spite  of  injured  pride, 
1  fe  ir  ray  eyes  would  pardon 
Befire  my  toii^jue  could  chide." 


114  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


§  2.  September  the  t7uentieth.     Three  to  four,  p.  m. 

It  was  the  third  week  in  September,  about  five  weeks  after 
Cytherea's  arrival^  when  Miss  Aldclyfife  requested  her  one 
day  to  go  through  the  village  of  Carriford  and  assist  herself 
in  collecting  the  subscriptions  made  by  some  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  parish  to  a  religious  society  she  patronized. 
Miss  Aldclyffe  formed  one  of  what  was  called  a  Ladies'  Asso- 
ciation, each  member  of  which  collected  tributary  streams  of 
shillings  from  her  inferiors,  to  add  to  her  own  pound  at  the 
end. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  took  particular  interest  in  Cytherea's  ap- 
pearance that  afternoon,  and  the  object  of  her  attention 
was,  indeed,  gratifying  to  look  at.  The  sight  of  the  lithe  gijl, 
set  off  by  an  airy  dress,  coqu';ttish  jacket,  flexible  hat,  a  ray 
of  starlight  in  each  eye  and  a  war  of  lilies  and  roses  in  each 
cheek,  was  a  palpable  pleasure  to  the  mistress  of  the  man- 
sion, yet  a  pleasure  which  appeared  to  partake  less  of  the  nat- 
ure of  affectionate  satisfaction  than  of  mental  gratification. 

Eight  names  were  printed  in  the  report  as  belonging  to 
Miss  Aldclyffe's  list,  with  the  amount  of  subscription-money 
attached  to  each. 

"  I  will  collect  the  first  four,  whilst  you  do  the  same  with 
the  last  four,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

The  names  of  two  tradespeople  stood  first  in  Cytherea's 
share  :  then  came  a  Miss  Hinton  :  last  of  all  in  the  printed 
list  was  Mr.  Springrove  the  elder.  Underneath  his  name  was 
pencilled,  in  Miss  Aldclyffe's  handwriting,  "Mr.  Manston." 

Manston  had  arrived  on  the  estate,  in  the  capacity  of  stew- 
ard, three  or  four  days  previously,  and  occupied  the  old 
manor-house,  which  had  been  altered  and  repaired  for  his 
reception. 

"  Call  on  Mr.  Manston,"  said  the  lady,  impressively,  look- 
ing at  the  name  written  under  Cytherea's  portion  of  the  list. 

"  But  he  does  not  subscribe  yet  ?  " 

"  I  know  it ;  but  call  and  leave  him  a  report.  Don't  for- 
get it." 

"Say  you  would  be  pleased  if  he  would  subscribe?" 

"Yes — say  I  should  be  ])leased  if  he  would,"  repealed 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  smiling.     "  Good 'oye.     Don't  hurry  in  your 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES.  II5 

walk.  If  }OU  can't  get  easily  through  your  task  to-day  put 
off  some  of  it  till  to-morrow." 

Each  then  started  on  her  rounds  :  Cytherea  going  in  the 
first  place  to  the  old  manor-house.  Mr.  Manston  was  not 
indoors,  which  was  a  relief  to  her.  She  called  then  01.  the 
two  gentleman-farmers'  wives,  who  soon  transacted  their 
business  with  her,  frigidly  indifferent  to  her  personalty.  A 
person  who  socially  is  nothing  is  thought  less  of  by  people 
who  are  not  much  than  by  those  who  are  a  great  deal. 

She  then  turned  towards  Peakhill  Cottage,  the  residence 
of  Miss  Hinton,  who  lived  there  happily  enough,  with  an  el- 
derly servant  and  a  house-dog  as  companions.  Her  father, 
and  last  remaining  parent,  had  retired  thither  four  years  be- 
fore this  time,  after  having  filled  the  post  of  editor  to  the 
Froominster  Chronicle  for  eighteen  or  twenty  years.  There 
he  died  soon  after,  and  though  comparatively  a  poor  man, 
he  left  his  daughter  sufficiently  well  provided  for  as  a  modest 
fundholder  and  claimant  of  sundry  small  sums  in  dividends 
to  maintain  herself  as  mistress  at  Peakhill. 

At  Cytherea' s  knock  an  inner  door  was  heard  to  open  and 
close,  and  footsteps  crossed  the  passage  hesitatingly.  The 
next  minute  Cytherea  stood  face  to  face  with  the  lady  her- 
self. 

Adelaide  Hinton  was  about  nine-and-twenty  years  of  age. 
Her  hair  was  plentiful,  like  Cytherea's  own ;  her  teeth 
equalled  Cytherea's  in  regularity  and  whiteness.  But  she 
was  much  paler,  and  had  features  too  transparent  to  be  in 
place  among  household  smToundings.  Her  mouth  expressed 
love  less  forcibly  than  Cytherea's,  and,  as  a  natural  result  of 
her  greater  maturity,  her  tread  was  less  elastic,  and  she  was 
more  self-possessed. 

She  had  been  a  girl  of  that  kind  which  mothers  praise  as 
not  forward,  by  way  of  contrast,  when  disparaging  those 
nobler  ones  with  whom  loving  is  an  end  and  not  a  means. 
Men  of  forty,  too,  said  of  her,  "  a  good  sensible  wife  for  any 
man,  if  she  cares  to  marry,"  the  caring  to  marry  being  thrown 
in  as  the  vaguest  hypothesis,  because  she  was  so  practical. 
Yet  it  would  be  singular  if,  in  such  cases,  the  important  sub- 
ject of  marriage  should  be  excluded  from  manipulation  by 
hands  that  are  ready  for  practical  performance  in  every  do- 
mestic concern  besides. 


Il6  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Cytherea  was  an  acquisition,  and  the  greeting  was  hearty. 

"Good-afternoon!  O  yes — Miss  Graye,  from  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe's.  I  have  seen  you  at  church,  and  I  am  so  glad  you 
have  called  !  Come  in.  I  wonder  if  1  have  change  enough 
to  pay  my  subscription."     She  spoke  girlishly. 

Adelaide,  when  in  the  company  of  a  younger  woman,  al- 
ways levelled  herself  down  to  that  younger  woman's  age  from 
a  sense  of  justice  to  herself — as  if,  though  not  her  own  age 
at  common  law,  it  was  in  equity. 

"  It  doesn't  matter.     I'll  come  again." 

"  Yes,  do  at  any  time  ;  not  only  on  this  errand.  But  you 
must  step  in  for  a  minute.     Do." 

"  I  have  been  wanting  to,  for  several  weeks." 

"That's  right.  Now  you  must  see  my  house — lonely, 
isn't  it,  for  a  single  lady  ?  People  said  it  was  odd  for  a 
young  woman  like  me  to  keep  on  a  house  ;  but  what  did  I 
care  ?  If  you  knew  the  pleasure  of  locking  up  your  own 
door,  with  the  sensation  that  you  reigned  supreme  inside  it, 
you  would  say  it  was  worth  the  risk  of  being  called  odd. 
Mr.  Springrove  attends  to  my  gardening,  the  dog  attends  to 
robbers,  and  whenever  there  is  a  snake  or  toad  to  kill,  Jane 
does  it." 

"  How  nice.     It  is  better  than  living  in  a  town." 

"  Far  better.     A  town  makes  a  cynic  of  me." 

The  remark  recalled,  somewhat  startlingly,  to  Cytherea's 
mind,  that  Edward  had  used  those  very  words  to  herself  one 
evening  at  Creston. 

Miss  Hinton  opened  an  interior  door,  and  led  her  visitor 
into  a  small  drawing-room  commanding  a  view  of  the  coun- 
try for  miles. 

The  missionary  business  was  soon  settled ;  but  the  chat 
continued. 

"  How  lonely  it  must  be  here  at  night,"  said  Cytherea. 
"Aren't  you  afraid  ?" 

"At  first,  I  was  slightly.  But  I  got  used  to  the  solitude. 
And  you  know  a  sort  of  common-sense  will  creep  even  into 
timidity.  I  say  to  myself  sometimes  at  night,  '  If  I  were 
anybody  but  a  harmless  woman,  not  worth  the  trouble  of  a 
worm's  ghost  to  apjiear  to  me,  I  should  think  that  every 
sound  I  hear  was  a  spirit.'  Bit  you  must  see  all  over  my 
house." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  ny 

Cytherea  was  very  interested  in  seeing. 

"  I  say  you  musf  do  this,  and  you  m?/sf  do  that,  as  if  you 
were  a  child,"  remarked  Adelaide.  "  A  privileged  friend  of 
mine  tells  me  this  use  of  the  imperative  comes  of  being  sa 
constantly  in  nobody's  society  but  my  own." 

"  Ah,  yes.     I  supj^ose  she  is  right." 

Cytherea  called  the  friend  "she"  by  a  rule  of  ladylike 
practice;  for  a  woman's  "friend"  is  delicately  assumed  by 
another  friend  to  be  of  their  own  sex  in  the  absence  of 
knowledge  to  the  contrary ;  just  as  cats  are  called  shes  until 
they  prove  themselves  hes. 

Miss  Hinton  laughed  mysteriously. 

"  I  get  a  humorous  reproof  for  it  now  and  then,  I  assure 
you,"  she  continued. 

"'Humorous  reproof:'  that's  not  from  a  woman  :  who 
can  reprove  humorously  but  a  man?"  was  the  groove  of 
Cytherea's  thought  at  the  remark.  "  Your  brother  reproves 
you,  I  expect,"  said  that  innocent  young  lady. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Hinton,  with  a  candid  air.  " '  Tis  only  a 
gentleman  I  am  acquainted  with."  She  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

Women  are  persistently  imitative.  No  sooner  did  a 
thought  flash  through  Cytherea's  mind  that  the  gentleman 
was  a  lover  than  she  became  a  Miss  AldclyfFe  in  a  mild 
form. 

"  1  imagine  he's  a  sweetheart,"  she  said. 

Miss  Hinton  smiled  a  smile  of  experience  in  that  line. 

Few  women,  if  taxed  with  having  an  admirer,  are  so  free 
from  vanity  as  to  deny  the  impeachment,  even  if  it  is  utterly 
untrue.  When  it  does  happen  to  be  true,  they  look  pityingly 
away  from  the  person  who  is  so  benighted  as  to  have  got  no 
farther  than  suspecting  it. 

"  There  now,  Miss  Hinton  ;  you  are  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried !  "  said  Cytherea,  accusingly. 

Adelaide  nodded  her  head  practically.  "Well  yes,  I 
am,"  she  said. 

The  word  "  engaged "  had  no  sooner  passed  Cytherea's 
lips  than  the  sound  of  it — the  mere  sound  by  her  own  lips — 
carried  her  mind  to  the  time  and  circumstances  under  which 
Miss  Aldclyffe  had  used  it  towards  herself.  A  sickening 
thought  followed — based  but  on  a  mere   surmise ;    yet  its 


Il8  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

presence  took  every  other  idea  away  from  Cytherea's  mind. 
Miss  Hinton  liad  used  Edward's  words  about  towns  ;  she 
mentioned  Mr.  Springrove  as  attending  to  her  gard-^n.  It 
could  not  be  lliat  Edward  was  the  man  !  that  Miss  Aldclyffe 
had  planned  to  reveal  her  rival  thus  I 

"Are  you  going  to  be  married  soon  ?"  she  inquired,  with 
a  steadiness  the  result  of  a  sort  of  fascination,  but  apparently 
of  indifference. 

"  Not  very  soon — still,  soon." 

"Ah — ha.     In  less  than  three  months?"  said  Cytherea. 

"  Two." 

Now  that  the  subject  was  well  in  hand,  Adelaide  wanted 
no  more  prompting.  "  You  won't  tell  anybody  if  1  show 
you  something  ?  "  she  said  with  eager  mystery. 

"O  no,  nobody.     But  does  he  live  in  this  parish?" 

"No." 

Nothing  proved  yet. 

"What's  his  name?"  said  Cytherea,  flatly.  Her  breath 
and  heart  had  begun  their  old  tricks,  and  came  and  went 
hotly.     Miss  Hinton  could  not  see  her  face. 

"What  do  you  think  ?  "  said  Miss  Hinton. 

"  George  ?"  said  Cytherea,  with  deceitful  agony. 

"  No,"  said  Adelaide.  "  But  now,  you  shall  see  him  first ; 
come  here  ;  "  and  she  led  the  way  upstairs  into  her  bed- 
room. There,  standing  on  the  dressing-table  in  a  little 
frame,  was  the  unconscious  portrait  of  Edward  Springrove. 

"  There  he  is,"  Miss  Hinton  said,  and  a  silence  ensued. 

"  Are  you  very  fond  of  him  ?  "  continued  the  miserable 
Cytherea  at  length. 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  am,"  her  companion  replied,  but  in  the 
tone  of  one  who  lived  in  Abraham's  bosom  all  the  year,  and 
was  therefore  untouched  by  solemn  thought  at  the  fact. 
"  He's  my  cousin — a  native  of  this  village.  We  were  en- 
gaged before  my  father's  death  left  me  so  lonely.  I  was 
only  twenty,  and  a  much  greater  belle  than  I  am  now.  We 
know  each  other  thoroughly,  as  you  may  imagine.  I  give 
him  a  little  sermonizing  now  and  then." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  O  it's  only  in  fun.  He's  very  naughty  sometimes — not 
really,  you  know — but  he  will  look  at  any  pretty  face  when 
he  sees  it." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


119 


Storing  up  this  statement  of  his  susceptibility  as  anotlier 
item  to  be  miserable  upon  when  she  had  time,  "  How  do 
you  know  that  ?"   Cytherea  asked,  with  a  swehing  heart. 

"  Well,  you  know  how  things  do  come  to  women's  ears. 
He  used  to  live  at  Creston  as  an  assistant-architect,  and  I 
found  out  that  a  young  giddy  thing  of  a  girl,  who  hved  there 
somewhere,  took  his  fancy  for  a  day  or  two.  But  I  don't 
feel  jealous  at  all — our  engagement  is  so  matter-of-fact  that 
neither  of  us  can  be  jealous.  And  it  was  a  mere  flirtation — 
she  was  too  silly  for  him.  He's  fond  of  rowing,  and  kindly 
gave  her  an  airing  for  an  evening  or  two.  I'll  warrant  they 
talked  the  most  unmitigated  rubbish  under  the  sun — all  shal- 
lowness and  pastime,  just  as  everything  is  at  watering-places 
— neither  of  them  caring  a  bit  for  the  other — she  giggling 
like  a  goose  all  the  time — " 

Concentrated  essence  of  woman  pervaded  the  room  rather 
than  air.  "She  didn't!  and  twasn't  shallowness  !"  Cyth- 
erea burst  out  with  brimming  eyes.  "  Twas  deep  deceit  011 
one  side,  and  entire  confidence  on  the  other — yes,  it  was  ! " 
The  pent-up  emotion  had  swollen  and  swollen  inside  the 
young  thing  till  the  dam  could  no  longer  embay  it.  The 
instant  the  words  were  out  she  would  have  given  worlds  to 
have  been  able  to  recall  them. 

"  Do  you  know  her — or  him  ?  "  said  Miss  Hinton,  starting 
with  suspicion  at  the  warmth  shown. 

The  two  women  had  now  lost  their  personality  quite. 
There  was  the  same  keen  brightness  of  eye,  the  same  move- 
ment of  the  mouth,  the  same  mind  in  both,  as  they  looked 
doubtingly  and  excitedly  at  each  other.  As  is  invariably  the 
case  with  women  where  a  man  they  care  for  is  the  subject 
of  an  excitement  among  them,  the  situation  abstracted  the 
differences  which  distinguished  them  as  individuals,  and  left 
only  the  properties  common  to  them  as  atoms  of  a  sex. 

Cytherea  caught  at  the  chance  afforded  her  of  not  betray- 
ing herself     "Yes,  1  know  her,"  she  said. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Hinton,  "I  am  really  vexed  if  my 
speaking  so  lightly  of  any  friend  of  yours  has  hurt  your 
feelings,  but — " 

"  O  never  mind,"  Cytherea  returned  ;  "  it  doesn't  matter, 
Miss  Hinton.  I  think  I  must  leave  yoa  now.  I  have  to 
call  at  other  places.     Yes,  I  must  go." 


I20  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

Miss  Hinton,  in  a  perplexed  state  of  mind,  showed  her 
visitor  politely  downstairs  to  the  door.  Here  Cytherea 
bade  her  a  hurried  adieu,  and  flitted  down  the  garden  into 
the  lane. 

She  persevered  in  her  duties  with  a  wayward  pleasure  in 
giving  herself  misery,  as  was  her  wont.  Mr.  Springrove's 
name  was  next  on  the  list,  and  she  turned  towards  his  dwel- 
ling, the  Three  Tranters  Inn. 


§  3.  Four  to  five  p.  m. 

The  cottages  along  Carriford  village  street  were  not  so 
close  but  that  on  one  side  or  other  of  the  road  was  always 
a  hedge  of  hawthorn  or  privet,  over  or  through  which  could 
be  seen  gardens  or  orchards  rich  with  produce.  It  was 
about  the  middle  of  the  early  apple-harvest,  and  the  laden 
trees  were  shaken  at  intervals  by  the  gatherers  ;  the  soft  pat- 
tering of  the  falling  crop  upon  the  grassy  ground  being  di- 
versified by  the  loud  rattle  of  vagrant  ones  upon  a  rail,  hen- 
coop, basket,  or  lean-to  roof,  or  upon  the  rounded  and 
stooping  backs  of  the  collectors — mostly  children,  who 
would  have  cried  bitterly  at  receiving  such  a  smart  blow 
from  any  other  quarter,  but  smilingly  assumed  it  to  be  but 
fun  in  apples. 

The  Three  Tranters  Inn,  a  many-gabled,  mediaeval  build- 
ing, constructed  almost  entirely  of  timber,  plaster,  and 
thatch,  stood  close  to  the  line  of  the  roadside,  almost  oppo- 
site the  churchyard,  and  was  connected  with  a  row  of 
cottages  on  the  left  by  thatched  outbuildings.  It  was  an  un- 
commonly characteristic  and  handsome  specimen  of  the 
genuine  roadside  inn  of  bygone  times  ;  and  standing  on  the 
great  highway  to  the  South-west  of  England  (which  ran 
through  Carriford),  had  in  its  time  been  the  scene  of  as 
much  of  what  is  now  looked  upon  as  the  romantic  and  geni- 
al experience  of  stage-coach  travelling  as  any  halting-place 
in  the  country.  The  railway  had  absorbed  the  whole  stream 
of  traffic  which  formely  flowed  through  the  village  and  along 
by  the  ancient  door  of  the  inn,  reducing  the  empty-handed 
4andlord,  who  used  only  to  farm  a  few  fields  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  to  the  necessity  of  eking  out  his  attenuated  in- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  121 

come  by  increasing  the  extent  of  his  agricultural  business  if 
he  would  still  mantain  his  social  standing.  Next  to  the  gen- 
eral stillness  i)ervading  the  spot,  the  long  line  of  outbuildings 
adjoining  the  house  was  the  most  striking  and  saddening 
witness  to  the  passed-away  fortunes  of  the  Three  Tranters 
Inn.  It  was  the  bulk  of  the  original  stabling,  and  where 
once  the  hoofs  of  twoscore  horses  had  daily  rattled  over 
the  stony  yard,  to  and  from  the  stalls  within,  thick  grass  now 
grew,  whilst  the  line  of  roofs — once  so  straight — over  the 
decayed  stalls,  had  sunk  into  vast  hollows  till  they  seemed 
like  the  cheeks  of  toothless  age. 

On  a  green  plot  at  the  other  end  of  the  building  grew  two 
or  three  large,  wide-spreading  elm-trees,  from  which  the  sign 
was  suspended — representing  three  men  called  tranters  (ir- 
regular carriers),  standing  side  by  side,  and  exactly  ahke  to  a 
hair's-breadth,  the  grain  of  the  wood  and  joints  of  the  boards 
being  visible  through  the  thin  paint  depicting  their  forms, 
which  were  still  further  disfigured  by  red  stains  running 
downwards  from  the  rusty  nails  above. 

Under  the  trees  now  stood  a  cider  mill  and  press,  and 
upon  the  spot  sheltered  by  the  boughs  were  gathered  Mr. 
Springrove  himself,  his  men,  the  parish  clerk,  two  or  three 
other  men,  grinders  and  supernumeraries,  a  woman  with  an 
infant  in  her  arms,  a  flock  of  pigeons,  and  some  little  boys 
with  straws  in  their  mouths,  endeavoring,  whenever  the 
men's  backs  were  turned  to  get  a  sip  of  the  sweet  juice 
issuing  from  the  vat. 

Edward  Springrove  the  elder,  the  landlord,  now  more  par- 
ticularly a  farmer,  and  for  two  months  in  the  year  a  cider- 
maker,  was  an  employer  of  labor  of  the  old  school,  who  worked 
himself  among  his  men.  He  was  now  engaged  in  packing 
the  i^omace  into  horsehair  bags  with  a  rammer,  and  Gad 
Weedy,  his  man,  was  occupied  in  shoveling  up  more  from 
a  tub  at  his  side.  The  shovel  shone  like  silver  from  the  ac- 
tion of  the  juice,  and  ever  and  anon,  in  its  motion  to  and  fro, 
caught  the  rays  of  the  declining  sun  and  reflected  them  in  brist- 
hng  stars  of  light. 

Mr.  Springrove  had  been  too  young  a  man  when  the  pris- 
tine days  of  the  Three  Tranters  had  departed  forever  to 
have  much  of  the  host  left  in  him  now.  He  was  a  poet  with 
a  rough  -skin  :  one  whose  sturdiness  was  more  the  result  of 


122  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

external  circumstances  than  of  intrinsic  nature.  Too  kindly 
constitutioned  to  be  very  provident,  he  was  yet  not  impru- 
dent. He  had  a  quiet  humorousness  of  disposition,  not 
out  of  keeping  with  a  frequent  melancholy,  the  general  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance  being  one  of  abstraction.  Like 
Walt  Whitman  he  felt  as  his  years  increased, 

"  I  foresee  too  much;  it  means  more  than  I  thought." 

On  the  present  occasion  he  wore  gaiters  and  a  leatliern 
apron,  and  worked  with  his  shirt-sleeves  rolled  up  beyond 
his  elbows,  disclosing  solid  and  fleshy  rather  than  muscular 
arms.  They  were  stained  by  the  cider,  and  two  or  three 
brown  apple-pips  from  the  pomace  he  was  handling  were  to 
be  seen  sticking  on  them  here  and  there  among  the  hairs. 

The  other  prominent  figure  was  that  of  Richard  Crickett, 
the  parish  dark,  a  kind  of  Bowlderized  rake,  who  ate  only 
the  quantity  of  a  woman,  and  had  the  rheumatism  in  his  left 
hand.  The  remainder  of  the  group,  brown-faced  peasants, 
wore  smock-frocks  embroidered  on  the  shoulders  with  hearts 
and  diamonds,  and  were  girt  round  their  middle  with  a  strap, 
another  being  worn  round  the  right  wrist. 

"  And  have  you  seen  the  steward,  Mr.  Springrove  ?  "  said 
the  clerk. 

"  Just  a  glimpse  of  him  ;  but  'twas  just  enough  to  show  me 
that  he's  not  here  for  long." 

"Why  m't  that  be?" 

"He'll  never  stand  the  vagaries  of  the  female  figure 
holden  the  reins — not  he." 

"  She  d'  pay  en  well,"  said  a  grinder  ;  "  and  money's 
money." 

"Ah — 'tis  ;  very  much  so,"  the  clerk  replied. 

"Yes,  yes,  naibor  Crickett,"  said  Springrove,  "but  she'll 
flee  in  a  passion — all  the  fat  will  be  in  the  fire — and  there's 

an  end Yes,  she  is  a  one,"  continued  the  farmer, 

resting,  raising  his  eyes,  and  reading  the  features  of  a 
distant  apple. 

"  She  is,"  said  Gad,  resting  too  (it  is  wonderful  how 
prompt  a  journeyman  is  in  following  his  master's  initiative 
to  rest),  and  reflectively  regarding  the  ground  in  front  of 
him. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


123 


"  True  ;  a  one  is  she,"  the  clerk  chimed  in,  shaking  his 
head  ominously. 

"  She  has  such  a  temper,"  said  the  farmer,  "  and  is  so  wil- 
ful too.  You  may  as  well  try  to  stop  a  footpath  as  stop  het 
when  she  has  taken  anything  into  her  head,  I'd  as  soon 
grind  little  green  crabs  all  day  as  live  wi'  her." 

"  'Tis  a  temper  she  hev,  'tis,"  the  clerk  replied,  "  though 
I  be  a  servant  of  the  church  that  say  it.  But  she  isn't  goen 
to  flee  in  a  passion  this  time." 

The  company  waited  for  the  continuation  of  the  speech, 
as  if  they  knew  from  experience  the  exact  distance  off  it  lay 
in  the  future. 

The  clerk  swallowed  nothing  as  if  it  were  a  great  deal, 
and  then  went  on,  "  There's  some'at  between  them  ;  mark 
my  words,  naibors — there's  some'at  between  'em." 

"  D'ye  mean  it  ?  " 

"  I  d'  know  it.     He  came  last  Saturday,  didn't  he." 

"  'A  did,  truly,"  said  Gad  Weedy,  at  the  same  time  taking 
an  apple  from  the  hopper  of  the  mill,  eating  a  piece,  and 
flinging  back  the  remainder  to  be  ground  up  for  cider. 

"  He  went  to  church  a-Sunday,"  said  the  clerk  again. 

'*  'A  did." 

"  And  she  kept  her  eye  upon  en  all  the  service,  her  face 
flickeren  between  red  and  white,  but  never  stoppen  at 
either." 

Mr.  Springrove  nodded,  and  went  to  the  press. 

"  Well,"  said  the  clerk,  "  you  don't  call  her  the  kind 
o'  woman  to  make  mistakes  in  just  trotten  through  the 
weekly  service  o'  God  ?  Why,  as  a  rule  she's  as  right  as  I 
be  myself" 

Mr.  Springrove  nodded  again,  and  gave  a  twist  to  the 
screw  of  the  press,  followed  in  the  movement  by  Gad  at  the 
other  side  ;  the  two  grinders  expressing  by  looks  of  the 
greatest  concern  that,  if  Miss  Aldcldyffe  were  as  right  at 
church  as  the  clerk,  she  must  be  right  indeed. 

"  Yes,  as  right  in  the  service  o'  God  as  I  be  myself,"  re- 
peated the  clerk,  adding  length  to  such  a  solemn  sound,  like 
St.  Cecilia.  "  But  last  Sunday,  when  we  were  in  the  tenth 
commandment,  says  she,  '  Incline  our  hearts  to  keep  this 
law,'  says  she,  when  twas  '  Laws  in  our  hearts  we  be- 
seech thee,'  all   the  church  through.     Her  eye  was   upon 


124 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


him — she  was  quite  lost — '  Hearts  to  keep  this  law,'  says 
she  ;  she  was  no  more  than  a  mere  shadder  at  that  tenth 
time — a  mere  shadder.  You  mi't  ha'  mouthed  across  to  lier, 
'  Laws  in  our  hearts  we  beseech  thee,'  fifty  times  over — 
she'd  never  ha'  noticed  ye.  She's  in  love  wi'  the  man,  that's 
what  she  is." 

"Then  she's  a  bigger  stunpoU  than  I  took  her  for,"  said 
Mr.  Springrove.     "  Why  she's  old  enough  to  be  his  mother." 

"The  row  'ill  be  between  her  and  that  young  Curly-wig, 
you'll  see.  She  won't  run  the  risk  of  that  pretty  face  been 
near." 

"  Clerk  Crickett,  I'd  fancy  you  d'  know  everything  about 
everybody,"  said  Cad. 

"  Well  so's,"  said  the  clerk  modestly.  "  I  do  know  a 
little.     It  comes  to  me." 

"  And  I  d'  know  where  from." 

"  Ah." 

"  That  wife  o'  thine.  She's  an  entertainen  woman,  not 
to  speak  disrespectfully." 

"  She  is  :  and  a  winnen  one.  Look  at  the  husbands 
she've  had — God  bless  her  ! " 

"  I  wonder  you  could  stand  third  in  that  list,  Clerk 
Crickett,"  said  Mr.  Springrove. 

"Well, 't  has  been  a  power 'o  marvel  to  myself  often- 
times. Yes,  matrimony  d'  begin  '  Dearly  beloved,'  and 
ends  wi'  'Amazement,'  as  the  prayer-book  says.  But  what 
could  I  do,  naibor  Springrove  ?  'Twas  ordained  to  be. 
W^ell  do  1  remember  what  your  poor  lady  said  to  me  when 
I  had  just  married.  '  Ah,  Mr.  Crickett,'  says  she,  'your  wife 
will  soon  settle  you  as  she  did  her  other  two  :  here's  a  glass 
o'  rum,  for  I  shan't  see  your  poor  face  this  time  next  year.' 
I  swallered  the  rum,  called  again  next  year,  and  said,  '  Mrs. 
Springrove,  you  gave  me  a  glass  c'  rum  last  year  because  I 
was  going  to  die— here  I  be  alive  still,  you  see.'  'Well 
said.  Clerk  !  Here's  two  glasses  for  you  now  then,'  says 
she.  'Thank  you  mem,'  1  said,  and  swallered  the  rum. 
Well,  dang  my  old  sides,  next  year  I  thought  I'd  call  again 
and  get  three.  And  call  I  did.  But  she  wouldn't  give  me 
a  drop  o'  the  commonest.  '  No,  clerk,'  says  she,  '  you  are 
too  tough  for  a  woman's  pity.'  ....  Ah,  poor  soul,  'twas 
true  enough.     Here  be  I  that  was  expected  to  die  alive  and 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


125 


hard  as  a  nail,  you  see,  and  there's  she  moulderen  in  hei 
grave." 

"  I  used  to  think  'twas  your  wife's  fate  not  to  have  a  Uven 
husband  when  I  sid  'em  die  off  so,"  said  Gad. 

''  Fate  ?  Bless  thy  simplicity,  so  'twas  her  fate  ;  but  she 
struggled  to  have  one,  and  would,  and  did.  Fate's  nothen 
beside  a  woman's  schemen  !  " 

"  I  suppose,  then,  that  Fate  is  a  He,  like  us,  and  the 
I^ord,  and  the  rest  o'  em  up  above  there,"  said  Gad,  lifting 
his  eyes  to  the  sky. 

"  Hullo  !  Here's  the  young  woman  coinen  that  we  were 
a-talken  about  by-now,"  said  a  grinder,  suddenly  interrupt- 
ing.    "She's  comen  up  here,  as  1  be  alive  !  " 

The  two  grinders  stood  and  regarded  Cytherea  as  if  she 
had  been  a  ship  tacking  into  a  harbor,  nearly  stopping  the 
mill  in  their  new  interest. 

"Stylish  accoutrements  about  the  head  and  shoulders,  to 
my  thinken,"  said  the  clerk.  "  Sheenen  curls,  and  plenty 
o'  em." 

"  If  there's  one  kind  of  pride  more  excusable  than  another 
in  a  young  woman,  'tis  been  proud  of  her  hair,"  said  Mr. 
Springrove. 

"  Dear  man  ! — the  pride  there  is  only  a  small  piece  o'  the 
whole.  I  waiTant  now,  though  she  can  show  such  a  figure, 
she  ha' n't  a  stick  o'  furniture  to  call  her  own." 

"  Come,  clerk  Crickett,  let  the  maid  be  a  maid  while  she 
is  a  maid,"  said  Farmer  Springrove,  chivalrously. 

"O,"  replied  the  servant  of  the  church  '  "  I've  nothen  to 
say  against  it — O,  no  : — 

' ' '  The  chimney-sweeper's  daughter  Sue, 
As  I  have  heard  declare,  O, 
Although  slie's  neither  sock  nor  shoe 
Will  curl  and  deck  her  hair,  O.'  " 

Cytherea  was  rather  disconcerted  at  finding  that  the  grad- 
ual cessation  of  the  chopping  of  the  mill  was  on  her  ac- 
count,  and  still  more  when  she  saw  all  the  cider-makers' 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  except  Mr.  Springrove's,  whose  natural 
delicacy  restrained  him.  She  neared  the  plot  of  grass,  but 
instead  of  advancing  farther,  hesitated  on  its  border. 

Mr.  Springrove  perceived  her  embarrassment,  which  was 


126  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

relieved  when  she  saw  his  old-established  figure  coming 
across  to  her,  wiping  his  hands  in  his  apron. 

"  1  know  your  errand,  Missie,"  he  said,  "  and  am  glad  to 
see  you  and  attend  to  it.     I'll  step  indoors." 

"  If  you  are  busy  I  am  in  no  hurry  for  a  minute  or  two," 
said  Cytherea. 

"Then  if  so  be  you  really  wouldn't  mind,  we'll  wring 
down  this  last  filling  to  let  it  drain  all  night  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.     I  like  to  see  you," 

"We  are  only  just  grinden  down  the  early  pickthongs 
and  griffins,"  continued  the  farmer,  in  a  half-apologetic  tone 
for  being  caught  cider-making  by  any  well-dressed  lady. 
"They  rot  as  black  as  a  chimney-crook  if  we  keep  'em  till 
the  regulars  turn  in."  As  he  spoke  he  went  back  to  the 
press,  Cytherea  keeping  at  his  elbow.  "  I'm  later  than  I 
should  have  been  by  rights,"  he  continued,  taking  up  a  lever 
for  propelling  the  screw,  and  beckoning  to  the  men  to  come 
forward.  "  The  truth  is,  my  son  Edward  had  promised  to 
come  to-day,  and  I  made  preparations ;  but  instead  of  him 
comes  a  letter :  '  London,  September  the  eighteenth.  Dear 
Father,'  says  he,  and  went  on  to  tell  me  he  couldn't.  It 
threw  me  out  a  bit." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Cytherea. 

"  He's  got  a  place  a  b'lieve  ?  "  said  the  clerk,  drawing  near. 

"  No,  poor  mortal  fellow,  no.  He  tried  for  this  one  here, 
you  know,  but  couldn't  manage  to  get  it.  I  don't  know  the 
rights  o'  the  matter,  but  willy-nilly  they  wouldn't  have  him 
for  steward.     Now  mates,  form  in  line." 

Springrove,  the  clerk,  the  grinders,  and  Gad,  all  ranged 
themselves  behind  the  lever  of  the  screw,  and  walked  round 
like  soldiers  wheeling. 

"  The  man  that  the  old  quean  hev  got  is  a  man  you  can 
hardly  get  upon  your  tongue  to  gainsay,  by  the  look  o'  en," 
rejoined  Clerk  Crickett. 

"  One  o'  them  people  that  can  continue  to  be  thought 
no  worse  o'  for  stealen  a  horse  than  another  man  for  looken 
over  hedge  at  en,"  said  a  grinder. 

"Well,  he's  all  there  as  steward,  and  is  quite  the  gentle- 
man— no  doubt  about  that." 

"  So  would  my  Ted  ha'  been,  for  the  matter  o'  that,"  the 
farmer  said. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


127 


"  That's  tnie  :  'a  would,  sir." 

"I  said,  I'll  give  Ted  a  good  education  if  it  do  cost  me 
my  eyes,  and  I  would  have." 

"  Ay,  that  you  would  so,"  said  the  chorus  of  assistants, 
solemnly. 

"  But  he  took  to  books  naturally,  and  cost  very  little ; 
and  as  a  wind-up  the  women  folk  hatched  up  a  match  be- 
tween en  and  his  cousin." 

"When's  the  wedden  to  be,  Mr.  Springrove?" 

"  Uncertain — but  soon,  I  suppose.  Edward,  you  see,  can 
do  anything  pretty  nearly,  and  yet  can't  get  a  straightforward 
liven.  1  wish  sometimes  I  had  kept  en  here,  and  let  profes- 
sions go.    But  he  was  such  a  one  for  the  prent." 

He  dropped  the  lever  in  the  hedge,  and  turned  to  his 
visitor. 

"  Now  then,  Missie,  if  you'll  come  in-doors,  please." 

Gad  Weedy  looked  with  a  placid  criticism  at  Cytherea  as 
she  withdrew  with  the  farmer. 

"  I  could  tell  by  the  tongue  o'  her  that  she  didn't  take  her 
degrees  in  our  country,"  he  said,  in  an  undertone. 

"  The  railways  have  left  you  lonely  here,"  she  observed, 
when  they  were  in-doors. 

Save  the  withered  old  flies,  which  were  quite  tame  from 
the  solitude,  not  a  being  was  in  the  house.  Nobody  seemed 
to  have  entered  it  since  the  last  passenger  had  been  called 
out  to  mount  the  last  stage-coach  that  had  run  by. 

"  Yes,  the  Inn  and  I  seem  almost  a  i)air  of  fossils,"  the 
farmer  replied,  looking  at  the  room  and  then  at  himself. 

"O  Mr.  Springrove,"  said  Cytherea,  suddenly  recollect- 
ing herself;  "  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  recommending 
me  to  Miss  Aldclyffe."  She  began  to  warm  towards  the  old 
man  ;  there  was  in  him  a  gentleness  of  disposition  which  re- 
minded her  of  her  own  father. 

"Recommending?  Not  at  all.  Miss.  Ted — that's  my 
son, — Ted  said  a  fellow  clerk  of  his  had  a  sister  who  wanted 
to  be  doing  something  in  the  world,  and  I  mentioned  it  to 
the  housekeeper,  that's  all.     Ay,  I  miss  my  son  very  much." 

She  kept  her  back  to  the  window  that  he  might  not  see 
ner  rising  color. 

"Yes,'"   he  continued,   "sometirr.es  I   can't  help  feelen 


128  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

uneasy  about  en.  You  knc  w,  he  seems  not  made  for  a 
town  life  exactly  :  he  gets  very  queer  over  it  sometimes,  I 
think.  Perhaps  he'll  be  better  when  he's  married  to 
Adelaide." 

A  half-impatient  feeling  arose  in  her,  like  that  which  pos- 
sesses a  sick  person  when  he  hears  a  recently  struck  hour 
struck  again  by  a  slow  clock.     She  had  lived  farther  on. 

"  Everything  depends  upon  whether  he  loves  her,"  she 
said,  tremulously. 

"  He  used  to — he  doesn't  show  it  so  much  now :  but 
that's  because  he's  older.  You  see,  it  was  several  years  ago 
they  first  walked  together  as  young  man  and  young  woman. 
She's  altered  too  from  what  she  was  when  he  first  coorted 
her." 

"  How,  sir  ?  " 

"  O,  she's  more  sensible  by  half  When  he  used  to  write 
to  her  she'd  creep  up  the  lane,  and  look  back  over  her 
shoulder,  and  slide  out  the  letter,  and  kiss  it,  and  look  over 
one  shoulder  and  t'other  again,  and  read  a  word  and  stand 
in  thought  looken  at  the  hills  and  seen  none.  Then  the 
cuckoo  would  cry — away  the  letter  would  slip,  and  she'd 
start  a  span  wi'  fright  at  the  mere  bird,  and  have  a  red  skin 
before  the  quickest  man  among  you  could  say  '  Blood,  rush 
up.' " 

He  came  forward  with  the  money  and  dropped  it  into  her 
hand.  His  thoughts  were  still  with  Edward,  and  he  absently 
took  her  little  fingers  in  his  as  he  said,  earnestly  and  in- 
genuously,— 

"'Tis  so  seldom  I  get  a  gentlewoman  to  speak  to 
that  I  can't  help  speaken  to  you.  Miss  Graye,  on  my  fears 
for  Edward ;  I  sometimes  am  afraid  that  he'll  never  get  on 
— that  he'll  die  poor  and  despised  under  the  worst  mental 
conditions,  a  keen  sense  of  haven  been  passed  in  the  race 
by  men  whose  brains  are  nothen  to  his  own,  all  through  his 
seen  too  far  into  things — been  discontented  with  make-shifts 
— thinken  o'  perfection  in  things,  and  then  sickened  that 
there's  no  such  thing  as  perfection.  I  shan't  be  sorry  to  see 
him  marry,  since  it  may  settle  him  down  and  do  him  good. 
.  .  .     Ay,  we'll  hope  for  the  best." 

He  let  go  her  hand  and  accompanied  her  to  the  door,  say- 
ing, "If  you  should  care  to  walk  this  way  and  talk  to  an  old 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


129 


man  once  now  and  then,  it  will  be  a  great  delight  to  him, 
Miss  Graye.  Good-evenen  to  ye  .  .  .  Ah  look  !  a  thunder- 
storm is  brewing — be  quick  home.  Or  shall  I  step  up  with 
you?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Springrove.  Good-evening,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice  and  hurried  away.  One  thought  still 
possessed  her  :  Edward  had  trifled  with  her  love. 


§  4.  Five  to  six  p.  in. 

She  followed  the  road  into  a  bower  of  trees,  overhanging 
it  so  densely  that  the  path  appeared  like  a  rabbit's  burrow, 
and  presently  reached  a  side  entrance  to  the  park.  The 
clouds  rose  more  rapidly  than  the  farmer  had  anticipated  : 
the  sheep  moved  in  a  trail,  and  complained  incoherently. 
Livid  gray  shades,  like  those  of  the  modern  French  artists, 
made  a  mystery  of  the  remote  and  dark  parts  of  the  vista, 
and  seemed  to  insist  upon  a  suspension  of  breath.  Before 
she  was  half  way  across  the  park  the  thunder  rumbled 
distinctly. 

The  direction  in  which  she  had  to  go  would  take  her 
close  by  the  old  manor-house. 

The  air  was  perfectly  still,  and  between  each  low  rumble 
of  the  thunder  behind  she  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  water- 
fall before  her,  and  the  creak  of  the  engine  among  the 
bushes  hard  by  it.  Hurrying  on,  with  a  growing  dread  of 
the  gloom  and  of  the  approaching  storm,  she  drew  near  the 
Old  House,  now  rising  before  her  against  the  dark  foliage 
and  sky  in  tones  of  strange  whiteness. 

On  the  flight  of  steps,  which  descended  from  a  terrace  in 
front  to  the  level  of  the  park,  stood  a  man.  He  appeared, 
partly  from  the  relief  the  position  gave  to  his  figure,  and 
partly  from  fact,  to  be  of  towering  height.  He  was  dark  in 
outline,  and  was  looking  at  the  sky,  with  his  hands  behind  him. 
'  It  was  necessary  for  Cytherea  to  pass  directly  across  the 
line  of  his  front.  She  felt  so  reluctant  to  do  this,  that  she 
was  about  to  turn  under  the  trees  out  of  the  path  and  enter 
it  again  at  a  point  beyond  the  Old  House  ;  but  he  had  seen 
her,  and  she  came  on  mechanically,  unconsciously  averting 
her  face  a  little,  and  dropping  her  glance  to  the  ground. 


130 


LESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


Her  eyes  unswervingly  lingered  along  the  path  until  they 
fell  upon  another  path  branching  in  a  right  line  from  the 
l)ath  she  was  pursuing.  It  came  from  the  steps  of  the  Old 
House.  "I  am  exactly  opposite  him  now,"  she  thought, 
"  and  his  eyes  are  going  through  me." 

A  clear,  masculine  voice  said,  at  the  same  instant, 

"Are  you  afraid?" 

She,  interpreting  his  question  by  her  feelings  at  the  mo- 
ment, assumed  himself  to  be  the  object  of  fear,  if  any.  "  I 
don't  think  1  am,"  she  stammered. 

He  seemed  to  know  that  she  thought  in  that  sense. 

"  Of  the  thunder,  I  mean,"  he  said  ;  "  not  of  myself." 

She  must  turn  to  him  now.  "  I  think  it  is  going  to  rain," 
she  remarked  for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

He  could  not  conceal  his  surprise  and  admiration  of  her 
face  and  bearing.  He  said  courteously,  "  It  may  possibly 
not  rain  before  you  reach  the  House,  if  you  are  going 
there." 

"  Yes,  1  am." 

"  May  I  walk  up  with  you  ?  It  is  lonely  under  the 
trees." 

"  No."  Fearing  his  courtesy  arose  from  a  belief  that  he 
was  addressing  a  woman  of  higher  station  than  was  hers, 
she  added,  "  I  am  Miss  Aldclyffe's  companion.  I  don't 
mind  the  loneliness." 

"Oh,  Miss  Aldclyffe's  companion.  Then  will  you  be 
kind  enough  to  take  a  subscription  to  her?  She  sent  to  me 
this  afternoon  to  ask  me  to  become  a  subscriber  to  her  So- 
ciety, and  I  was  out.  Of  course  I'll  subscribe  if  she  wishes 
it.     I  take  a  great  interest  in  the  Society." 

"  Miss  Aldclyffe  will  be  glad  to  hear  that,  I  know." 

"Yes  :  let  me  see — what  Society  did  she  say  it  was  ?  I 
am  afraid  I  haven't  enough  money  in  my  pocket,  and  yet  it 
would  be  a  satisfaction  to  her  to  have  practical  proof  of  my 
willingness.     I'll  get  it,  and  be  out  in  one  minute." 

He  entered  the  house  and  was  at  her  side  again  withm* 
the  time  he  had  named.     "This  is  it,"  he  said,  pleasantly. 

She  held  up  her  hand.  The  soft  tips  of  his  fingers 
brushed  the  palm  of  her  glove  as  he  placed  the  money 
within  it.  She  wondered  why  his  fingers  should  have  touched 
her. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  131 

"  I  think  after  all,"  he  continued,  "  that  the  rain  is  upon 
us,  and  will  drench  you  before  you  reach  the  House,  Yes  : 
see  there." 

He  pointed  to  a  round  wet  spot  as  large  as  a  nasturtium 
leaf,  which  had  suddenly  appeared  upon  the  white  surface 
of  the  step. 

"You  had  better  come  into  the  porch.  It  is  not  nearly 
night  yet.     The  clouds  make  it  seem  later  than  it  really  is." 

Heavy  drops  of  rain,  followed  immediately  by  a  forked 
flash  of  lightning  and  sharp  rattling  thunder,  compelled  her, 
willingly  or  no,  to  accept  his  invitation.  She  ascended  the 
steps,  stood  beside  him  just  within  the  porch,  and  for  the 
first  time  obtained  a  series  of  short  views  of  his  person,  as 
they  waited  there  in  silence. 

He  was  an  extremely  handsome  man,  well-formed,  and 
well-dressed,  of  an  age  which  seemed  to  be  two  or  three 
years  less  than  thirty. 

The  most  striking  point  in  his  appearance  was  the  won- 
derful, almost  preternatural,  clearness  of  his  complexion. 
There  was  not  a  blemish  or  speck  of  any  kind  to  mar  the 
smoothness  of  its  surface  or  the  beauty  of  its  hue.  Next, 
his  forehead  was  square  and  broad,  his  brows  straight  and 
firm,  his  eyes  penetrating  and  clear.  By  collecting  the 
round  of  expressions  they  gave  forth,  a  person  who  theorized 
on  such  matters  would  have  imbibed  the  notion  that  their 
owner  was  of  a  nature  to  kick  against  the  pricks  ;  the  last 
man  in  the  world  to  put  up  with  a  position  because  it  seemed 
to  be  his  destiny  to  do  so  ;  one  who  took  upon  himself  to 
resist  fate  with  the  vindictive  determination  of  a  Theoma- 
chist.  Elyes  and  forehead  both  would  have  expressed  keen- 
ness of  intellect  too  severely  to  be  pleasing,  had  their  force 
not  been  counteracted  by  the  lines  and  tone  of  the  lips. 
These  were  full  and  luscious  to  a  surprising  degree,  possess- 
ing a  woman-like  softness  of  curve,  and  a  ruby  redness  so 
intense,  as  to  testify  strongly  to  much  susceptibility  of  heart 
where  feminine  beauty  was  concerned — a  susceptibility  that 
might  require  all  the  ballast  of  brain  with  which  he  had 
previously  been  credited  to  confine  within  reasonable  chan- 
nels. 

His  manner  was  elegant ;  his  speech  well-finished  and  un- 
constrained. 


132 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


The  break  in  their  discourse,  which  had  been  caused  by 
the  peal  of  thunder,  was  unbroken  by  either  for  a  minute 
or  two,  during  which  the  ears  of  both  seemed  to  be  absently 
following  the  low  roar  of  the  waterfall  as  it  became  gradu- 
ally rivalled  by  the  increasing  rush  of  rain  upon  the  trees 
and  herbage  of  the  grove.  After  her  short  looks  at  him, 
Cytherea  had  turned  her  head  towards  the  avenue  for  a 
while,  and  now,  glancing  back  again  for  an  instant,  she  dis 
covered  that  his  eyes  were  engaged  in  a  steady,  though  deli 
cate,  regard  of  her  face  and  form. 

At  this  moment,  by  reason  of  the  narrowness  of  the 
porch,  their  dresses  touched,  and  remained  in  contact. 

His  clothes  are  something  exterior  to  every  man  ;  but  to 
a  woman  her  dress  is  part  of  her  body.  Its  motions  are  all 
present  to  her  intelligence  if  not  to  her  eyes  ;  no  man 
knows  how  his  coat-tails  swing.  By  the  slightest  hyperbole 
it  may  be  said  that  her  dress  has  sensation.  Crease  but  the 
very  Ultima  Thule  of  fringe  or  flounce,  and  it  hurts  her  as 
much  as  pinching  her.  Delicate  antennae,  or  feelers,  bristle 
on  every  outlying  frill.  Go  to  the  uppermost :  she  is  there  ; 
tread  on  the  lowest :  the  fair  creature  is  there  almost  before 
you. 

Thus  the  touch  of  clothes,  which  was  nothing  to  Man- 
ston,  sent  a  thrill  through  Cytherea,  seeing,  moreover,  that 
he  was  of  the  nature  of  a  mysterious  stranger.  She  looked 
out  again  at  the  storm,  but  still  felt  him.  At  last  to  escape 
the  sensation  she  moved  away,  though  by  so  doing  it  was 
necessary  to  advance  a  Httle  into  the  rain. 

"  Look,  the  rain  is  coming  into  the  porch  upon  you,"  he 
said.     "  Step  inside  the  door." 

Cytherea  hesitated. 

"  Perfectly  safe,  I  assure  you,"  he  added,  laughing,  and 
holding  the  door  open.  "  You  shall  see  what  a  state  of  dis- 
organization I  am  in — boxes  on  boxes,  furniture,  straw, 
crockery,  in  every  form  of  transposition.  An  old  woman  is 
in  the  back-quarters  somewhere,  beginning  to  put  things  to 
rights  .  .  .  You  know  the  inside  of  the  house,  I  dare 
say  ?  " 

"I  have  never  been  in." 

"  Oh  well,  come  along.  Here,  you  see,  they  have  made 
a  door  through  ;  here  they  have  put  a  partition  dividing  the 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  133 

old '  hall  into  two,  one  part  is  now  my  parlor ;  there  they 
have  put  a  plaster  ceiling,  hiding  the  old  chestnut  carved 
roof  oecause  it  was  too  high  and  would  have  been  chilly  for 
rue  ;  you  see,  being  the  original  hall,  it  was  open  right  up  to 
the  top,  and  here  the  lord  of  the  manor  and  his  retainers 
used  to  meet  and  be  merry  by  the  light  from  the  monstrous 
fire  which  shone  out  from  that  monstrous  fire-place,  now 
narrowed  to  a  mere  nothing  for  my  grate,  though  you  can 
see  the  old  outhne  still.  I  almost  wish  I  could  have  had  it 
in  its  original  state." 

"  With  more  romance  and  less  comfort." 

"  Yes,  exactly.  Well,  perhaps  the  wish  is  not  deep-seated 
You  will  see  how  the  things  are  tumbled  in  any  how,  pack- 
ing-cases and  all.  The  only  piece  of  ornamental  furniture 
yet  unpacked  is  this  one." 

"  An  organ  ?  " 

"  Yes,  an  organ.  I  made  it  myself,  except  the  pipes.  I 
opened  the  case  this  afternoon  to  commence  soothing  my- 
self at  once.  It  is  not  a  very  large  one,  but  quite  big 
enough  for  a  private  house.     You  play,  I  dare  say  ?  " 

"  1'he  piano.     I  am  not  at  all  used  to  an  organ." 

"  You  would  soon  acquire  the  touch  for  an  organ,  though 
it  would  spoil  your  touch  for  the  piano.  Not  that  that  mat- 
ters a  great  deal.     A  piano  isn't  much  as  an  instrument." 

"  It  is  the  fashion  to  say  so  now.  I  think  it  is  quite  good 
enough." 

"That  isn't  altogether  a  right  sentiment  about  things  be- 
ing good  enough." 

"  No — no.  What  I  mean  is,  that  the  men  who  despise 
pianos  do  it  as  a  rule  from  their  teeth,  merely  for  fashion's 
sake,  because  cleverer  men  have  said  it  before  them — not 
from  the  experience  of  their  ears." 

Now  Cytherea  all  at  once  broke  into  a  blush  at  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  great  snub  she  had  been  guilty  of  in  her 
eagerness  to  explain  herself.  He  charitably  expressed  by  a 
look  that  he  did  not  in  the  least  mind  her  blunder,  if  it  were 
one  ;  and  this  attitude  forced  him  into  a  position  of  mental 
superiority  which  vexed  her. 

"  I  play  for  my  private  amusement  only,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  never  learnt  scientifically.  All  1  know  is  what  I 
taught  myself." 


134 


DESPERATE  REME£>IES. 


The  thunder,  lightning,  and  rain  had  now  increased  to  a 
terrific  force.  The  clouds,  from  which  darts,  forks,  zig2ags, 
and  balls  of  fire  continually  sprang,  did  not  appear  to  be 
more  than  a  hundred  yards  above  their  heads,  and  every  now 
and  then  a  flash  and  a  peal  made  gaps  in  the  steward's  de- 
scriptions. He  went  towards  the  organ,  in  the  midst  of  a 
volley  which  seemed  to  shake  the  aged  house  from  founda 
tions  to  chimney. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  play  now,  are  you  ?  "  said  Cythe 
rea,  uneasily. 

"O  yes.  Why  not  now?"  he  said.  "You  can't  gc 
home,  and  therefore  we  may  as  well  be  amused,  if  you  don't 
mind  sitting  on  this  box.  The  few  chairs  I  have  unpacked 
are  in  the  other  room." 

Without  waiting  to  see  whether  she  sat  down  or  not,  he 
turned  to  the  organ,  and  began  extemporizing  a  harmony 
which  meandered  through  every  variety  of  expression  of 
which  the  instrument  was  capable.  Presently  he  ceased, 
and  began  searching  for  some  music-book. 

"  What  a  splendid  flash  ! "  he  said,  as  the  lightning  again 
shone  in  through  the  muUioned  window,  which,  of  a  propor- 
tion to  suit  the  whole  extent  of  the  original  hall,  was  much 
too  large  for  the  present  room.  The  thunder  pealed  again. 
Cytherea,  in  spite  of  herself,  was  frightened,  not  only  at  the 
weather,  but  at  the  general  unearthly  weirdness  which 
seemed  to  surround  her  there. 

"  I  wish  I — the  lightning  wasn't  so  bright.  Do  you  think 
it  will  last  long?"  she  said,  timidly. 

"  It  can't  last  much  longer,"  he  muwiiured,  without  turn- 
ing, running  his  fingers  again  over  the  keys.  "  But  this  is 
nothing,"  he  continued,  suddenly  stopping  and  regarding  her. 
"  It  seems  brighter  because  of  the  deep  shadow  under  those 
trees  yonder.  Don't  mind  it;  now  look  at  me — look  in  my 
face — now." 

He  had  faced  the  window,  looking  fixedly  at  the  sky  with  his 
dark,  strong  eyes.  She  seemed  compelled  to  do  as  she  was 
bidden,  and  looked  in  the  too-delicately  beautiful  face. 

The  flash  came';  but  he  did  not  turn  or  blink,  keeping  his 
eyes  fixed  as  firmly  as  before.  "  There,"  he  said,  turning  to 
her,  "  that's  the  way  to  look  at  lightning." 

"  O,  it  might  have  blinded  you ! "  she  exclaimed. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  13C 

"Nonsense — not  lightning  of  this  sort — I  shouldn't  have 
stared  at  it  if  there  had  been  danger.  It  is  only  sheet  light- 
ning now.  Now,  will  you  have  another  piece  ?  Something 
from  an  oratorio  this  time  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you — I  don't  want  to  hear  it  whilst  it  thun- 
ders so."  But  he  had  commenced  without  heeding  her 
answer,  and  she  stood  motionless  again,  marvelling  at  the 
wonderful  indifference  to  all  external  circumstances  which 
was  now  evinced  by  his  complete  absorption  in  the  music 
before  him. 

"  Why  do  you  play  such  saddening  chords  ? "  she  said, 
when  he  next  paused. 

"  H'm — because  I  like  them,  I  sup|)ose,"  he  said  lightly. 
"  Don't  you  like  sad  impressions  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sometimes,  perhaps." 

"  When  you  are  full  of  trouble." 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  I  when  I  am  full  of  trouble?" 

"  Are  you  troubled  ?  " 

"  1  am  troubled."  He  said  this  so  thoughtfully  and 
abruptly — so  abruptly  that  she  did  not  push  the  dialogue 
further. 

He  now  played  more  powerfully.  Cytherea  had  never 
heard  music  in  the  completeness  of  full  orchestral  power,  and  / 
the  tones  of  the  organ,  which  reverberated  with  considerable 
effect  in  the  comparatively  small  space  of  the  room,  height- 
ened by  the  elemental  strife  of  light  and  sound  outside, 
moved  her  to  a  degree  out  of  proportion  to  the  actual  power 
of  the  mere  notes,  practised  as  was  the  hand  that  produced  ^ 
them.  The  varying  strains — now  loud,  now  soft ;  simple, 
complicated,  weird,  touching,  grand,  boisterous,  subdued ; 
each  phase  distinct,  yet  modulating  into  the  next  with  a 
graceful  and  easy  flow — shook  and  bent  her  to  themselves, 
as  a  gushing  brook  shakes  and  bends  a  shadow  cast  across 
its  surface.  The  power  of  the  music  did  not  show  itself  so 
much  by  attracting  her  attention  to  the  subject  of  the  piece, 
as  by  taking  up  and  developing  as  its  libretto  the  poem  o\ 
her  own  life  and  soul,  shifting  her  deeds  and  intentions  from 
the  hands  of  her  judgment,  and  holding  them  in  its  own. 

She  was  swayed  into  emotional  opinions  concerning  the 
strange  man  before  her ;  new  impulses  of  thought  came 'with 


136  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

new  harnjonies,  and  entered  into  her  with  a  gnawing  thrill. 
A  dreadful  flash  of  lightning  then,  and  the  thunder  close 
upon  it.  She  found  herself  involuntarily  shrinking  up  beside 
him,  and  looking  with  parted  lips  at  his  face. 

He  turned  his  eyes  and  saw  her  emotion,  which  greatly 
increased  the  ideal  element  in  her  expressive  face.  She  was 
in  the  state  in  which  woman's  instinct  to  conceal  has  lost  its 
power  over  her  impulse  to  tell ;  and  he  saw  it.  Bending  his 
handsome  face  over  her  till  his  lips  almost  touched  her  ear, 
he  murmured  without  breaking  the  harmonies  : — 

"  Do  you  very  much  like  this  piece  ?  " 

"  Very  much  indeed,"  she  said. 

"  I  could  see  you  were  affected  by  it.  I  will  copy  it  for 
you." 

"  Thank  you  much." 

"  I  will  bring  it  to  the  House  to  you  to-morrow.  Who 
shall  I  ask  for?" 

"O,  not  for  me.  Don't  bring  it,"  she  said,  hastily.  "  I 
shouldn't  like  you  to." 

"  Let  me  see — to-morrow  evening  at  seven  or  a  few 
minutes  past  I  shall  be  passing  the  waterfall  on  my  way 
home.  I  could  conveniently  give  it  you  there,  and  I  should 
like  you  to  have  it." 

He  modulated  into  the  pastoral  Symphony,  still  looking 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  to  get  rid  of  the  look. 

The  storm  had  by  this  time  considerably  decreased  in 
violence,  and  in  seven  or  ten  minutes  the  sky  partially 
cleared,  the  clouds  around  the  western  horizon  becoming 
lighted  up  with  the  rays  of  the  sinking  sun. 

Cytherea  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  and  prepared  to  go  _ 
away.  She  was  full  of  a  distressing  sense  that  her  detention 
in  the  old  manor-house,  and  the  acquaintanceship  it  had  set 
on  foot,  was  not  a  thing  she  wished.  It  was  such  a  foolish 
thing  to  have  been  excited  and  dragged  into  frankness  by  the 
wiles  of  a  stranger. 

"Allow  me  to  come  with  you,"  he  said,  accompanying 
her  to  the  door,  and  again  showing  by  his  behavior  how 
powerfully  he  was  impressed  with  her.  His  influence  over 
her  had  vanished  with  the  musical  chords,  and  she  turned 
her  back  upon  him.     "  May  I  ccme  ?"  he  repeated. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  1 37 

"  No,  no.  The  distance  is  not  three  hundred  yards — it 
is  not  really  necessary,  thank  you,"  she  said,  quietly.  And 
wishing  him  good-evening,  without  meeting  his  eyes,  she 
went  down  the  steps,  leaving  him  standing  at  the  door. 

"  O,  how  is  it  that  man  has  so  fascinated  me ! "  was  all 
she  could  think.  Her  own  self,  as  she  had  sat  spell-bound 
before  him,  was  all  she  could  see.  Her  gait  was  con- 
strained, from  the  knowledge  that  his  eyes  were  upon  her 
until  she  had  passed  the  hollow  by  the  waterfall,  and  by  as- 
cending the  rise  had  become  hidden  from  his  view  by  the 
boughs  of  the  overhanging  trees. 


§  5.    Six  to  seven  p.  ?n. 

The  wet,  shining  road  threw  the  western  glare  into  her 
eyes  with  an  invidious  lustre  which  rendered  the  restless-^ 
ness  of  her  mood  more  wearying.  Her  thoughts  flew  from 
idea  to  idea  without  asking  for  the  slightest  link  of  connec- 
tion between  one  and  another.  One  moment  she  was  full 
of  the  wild  music  and  stirring  scene  with  Mansion — ^^the 
next,  Edward's  image  rose  before  her  like  a  shadowy  ghost. 
Then  Manston's  black  eyes  seemed  piercing  her  again, 
and  the  reckless,  voluptuous  mouth  appeared  bending  to  the 
curves  of  his  special  words.  What  could  be  those  troubles 
to  which  he  had  alluded  ?  Perhaps  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  at 
the  bottom  of  them.  Sad  at  heart  she  paced  on  :  her  life 
was  bewildering  her. 

On  coming  into  Miss  AldclyfTe's  presence,  Cytherea  told 
her  of  the  incident,  not  without  a  fear  that  she  would  burst 
into  one  of  her  ungovernable  fits  of  temper  at  learning 
Cytherea's  slight  departure  from  the  programme.  But, 
strangely  to  Cytherea,  Miss  Aldclyffe  looked  delighted.  The 
usual  cross  examination  followed. 

"  And  so  you  were  with  him  all  that  time  ?"  said  the  lady, 
with  assumed  severity. 

"  Yes,  1  was." 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  to  call  at  the  Old  House  twice." 

"  I  didn't  call,  as  I  have  said.  He  made  me  come  into 
the  porch." 

"  What  remarks  did  he  make,  do  you  say  ?  " 


138  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  That  the  lightning  was  not  so  bad  as  I  thought." 

"  A  very  important  remark,  that.  Did  he — "  she  tinned 
her  glance  full  upon  the  girl,  and  eyeing  her  searchingly, 
said, — 

"  Did  he  say  anything  about  me  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Cytherea,  returning  her  gaze  calmly, 
"except  that  1  was  to  give  you  the  subscription." 

"You  are  quite  sure  ?" 

"  Quite." 

"  I  believe  you.  Did  he  say  anything  striking  or  strange 
about  himself?  " 

"  Only  one  thing — that  he  was  troubled." 

"  Troubled  !  " 

After  saying  the  word,  Miss  Aldclyffe  relapsed  into  si- 
lence. Such  behavior  as  this  had  ended,  on  most  previous 
occasions,  by  her  making  a  confession,  and  Cytherea  ex- 
pected one  now.  But  for  once  she  was  mistaken  ;  nothing 
more  was  said. 

When  she  had  returned  to  her  room  she  sat  down  and 
penned  a  farewell  letter  to  Edward  Springrove,  as  little  able 
as  any  other  excitable  and  brimming  young  woman  of  nine- 
teen, to  feel  that  the  wisest  and  only  dignified  course  at  that 
juncture  was  to  do  nothing  at  all.  She  told  him  that,  to 
her  painful  surprise,  she  had  learnt  that  his  engagement  to 
another  woman  was  a  matter  of  notoriety.  She  insisted  that 
all  honor  bade  him  marry  his  early  love — a  woman  far  better 
than  her  unworthy  self,  who  only  deserved  to  be  forgotten, 
and  begged  him  to  remember  that  he  was  not  to  see  her 
face  again.  She  upbraided  him  for  levity  and  cruelty  in 
meeting  her  so  frequently  at  Creston,  and  above  all  in 
stealing  the  kiss  from  her  lips  on  the  last  evening  of  the 
water  excursions.  "  I  never,  never  can  forget  it ! "  she 
said,  and  then  felt  a  sensation  of  having  done  her  duty, 
ostensibly  persuading  herself  that  her  reproaches  and  com- 
mands were  of  such  a  force  that  no  man  to  whom  they  were 
uttered  could  ever  approach  her  more. 

Yet  it  was  all  unconsciously  said  in  words  which  betrayed 
a  lingering  tenderness  of  love  at  every  unguarded  turn. 
Like  Beatrice  accusing  Dante  from  the  chariot,  try  as  she 
might  to  play  the  superior  being  who  contemned  such  mere 
eye-sensuousness,    she   betrayed   at   every   point    a   pretty 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


139 


woman's  jealousy  of  a  rival,  and  covertly  gave  her  old  lover 
hints  for  excusing  himself  at  each  fresh  indictment. 

This  done,  Cytherea,  still  in  a  practical  mood,  upbraided 
herself  with  weakness  in  allowing  a  stranger  like  Mr.  Man- 
ston  to  influence  her  as  he  had  that  evening.  What  right 
on  earth  had  lie  to  suggest  so  suddenly  that  she  might  meet 
him  at  the  waterfall  to  receive  his  music  ?  She  would  have 
given  much  to  be  able  to  annihilate  the  ascendency  he  had 
obtained  over  her  during  that  extraordinary  interval  of 
melodious  sound.  Not  being  able  to  endure  the  notion  of 
his  living  a  minute  longer  in  the  belief  he  was  then  holding, 
she  took  her  pen  and  wrote  to  him  also  : — 

"  Knapwater  House, 

"  September   20th. 

"  I  find  1  cannot  meet  you  at  seven  o'clock  by  the  water- 
falls as  I  promised.  The  emotion  I  felt  made  me  forgetful  of 
realities. 

"C.  Grave." 

A  great  statesman  thinks  several  times,  and  acts ;  a 
young  lady  acts,  and  thinks  several  times.  When,  a  few 
minutes  later,  she  saw  the  postman  carry  off  the  bag  contain- 
ing one  of  the  letters,  and  a  messenger  with  the  other,  she, 
for  the  first  time,  asked  herself  the  question  whether  she  had 
acted  very  wisely  in  writing  to  either  of  the  two  men  who  had 
so  influenced  her. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  EVENTS  OF  TEN  WEEKS. 

§   I.   From  September  the  twenty-first  to  the  middle  of 
November. 

THE  foremost  figure  within  Cytherea's  horizon,  exdii- 
sive  of  the  inmates  of  Knapwater  House,  was  now 
the  steward,  Mr.  Manston.  It  was  impossible  that  they 
should  live  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  each  other,  be  en- 
gaged in  the  same  service,  and  attend  the  same  Church, 
without  meeting  at  some  spot  or  another,  twice  or  thrice  a 
week.  On  Sundays,  in  her  pew,  when  by  chance  she  turned 
her  head,  Cytherea  found  his  eyes  waiting  desirously  for  a 
glimpse  of  hers,  and,  at  first  more  strangely,  the  eyes  of 
Miss  Aldcyffe  furtively  resting  on  him.  On  coming  out  of 
Church  he  frequently  walked  beside  Cytherea  till  she 
reached  the  gate  at  which  residents  in  the  House  turned  in- 
to the  shrubbery.  By  degrees  a  conjecture  grew  to  a  cer- 
tainty.    She  knew  that  he  loved  her. 

But  this  strange  fact  was  connected  with  the  development 
of  his  love — he  was  palpably  making  the  strongest  efforts  to 
subdue,  or  at  least  to  hide,  the  weakness,  and  as  it  some- 
times seemed,  rather  from  his  own  conscience  than  from 
surrounding  eyes.  Hence  she  found  that  not  one  of  his  en- 
counters with  her  was  anything  more  than  the  result  of  pure 
accident.  He  made  no  advances  whatever :  without  avoid- 
ing her,  he  never  sought  her :  the  words  he  had  whispered 
at  their  first  interview,  now  proved  themselves  to  be  quite 
as  much  the  result  of  unguarded  impulse  as  was  her  answer. 
Something  held  him  back,  bound  his  impulse  down,  but  she 
saw  that  it  was  neither  pride  of  his  person,  nor  fear  that  she 
would  refuse  him, — a  course  she  unhesitatingly  resolved  to 
take  should  he  think  fit  to  declare  himself.  She  wa^  inter- 
ested in  him  and  his  marvellous  beauty,  as  she  might  have 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  I4I 

beea--Hvsoniefa3einatv»^- panther  or  leopard, — for  some  un- 
definable  reason  she  shrank  from  him,  even  whilst  she  ad- 
mired. The  key-note  of  her  nature,  a  warm  "  jirecipitance 
of  soul"  as  Coleridge  happily  writes  it,  which  Manston  had 
so  directly  pounced  upon  at  their  very  first  interview,  gave 
h^-no\y_a. tremulous  senscof  being  in  souie  way  in  his.p.ow.er> 
The  state  of  mind  was  on  the  whole  a  dangerous  one  for 
a  young  and  inexperienced  woman  ;  and  perhaps  the  cir- 
cumstance which,  more  than  any  other,  led  her  to  cherish  Ed- 
ward's image  now,  was  that  he  had  taken  no  notice  of  the 
receipt  of  her  letter,  stating  that  she  discarded  him.  It  was 
plain  then,  she  said,  that  he  did  not  care  deeply  for  her,  and 
she  thereupon  could  not  quite  leave  off  caring  deeply  for 
him  : — 

" Ingenium  mulierum, 

Nolunt  ubi  velis,  ubi  nolis  cupiunt  ultro." 

The  month  of  October  passed,  and  November  began  its 
course.  The  inhabitants  of  the  village  of  Carriford  grew 
weary  of  supposing  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  going  to  marry 
her  steward.  New  whispers  arose  and  became  very  distinct 
(though  they  did  not  reach  Miss  Aldclyffe's  ears)  to  the  effect 
that  the  steward  was  deeply  in  love  with  Cytherea  Graye. 
Indeed  the  fact  became  so  obvious  that  there  was  nothing 
left  to  say  about  it  except  that  their  marriage  would  be  an 
excellent  one  for  both  ;  for  her  in  point  of  money — and  for 
him  in  point  of  love. 

As  circles  in  a  pond  grow  wider  and  wider,  the  next  fact, 
which  at  first  had  been  patent  only  to  Cytherea  herself,  in 
due  time  spread  to  her  neighbors,  and  they  too  wondered 
that  he  made  no  overt  advances.  By  the  middle  of  Novem- 
ber, a  theory  made  up  of  a  combination  of  the  other  two  was 
received  with  general  favor :  its  substance  being,  that  a 
guilty  intrigue  had  been  commenced  between  Manston  and 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  some  years  before,  when  he  was  a  very  young 
man,  and  she  still  in  the  enjoyment  of  some  womanly 
beauty,  but  now  that  her  seniority  began  to  grow  emphatic 
she  was  becoming  distasteful  to  him.  His  fear  of  the  effect 
of  the  lady's  jealousy,  would,  they  said,  thus  lead  him  to 
conceal  from  her  his  new  attachment  to  Cytherea.  Almost 
the  only  woman  who  did  not  believe  this  was  Cytherea  her 


142  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

self,  on  unmistakable  grounds,  which  were  hidden  from  all 
besides.  It  was  not  only  in  public,  but  even  more  mark- 
edly in  secluded  places,  on  occasions  when  gallantry  would 
have  been  safe  from  all  discovery,  that  this  guarded  course 
of  action  was  pursued,  all  the  strength  of  a  consuming  pas- 
sion burning  in  his  eyes  the  while. 


§  2.  November  the  eighteenth. 

It  was  on  a  Friday  in  this  month  of  November  that  Owen 
Graye  paid  a  visit  to  his  sister. 

His  zealous  integrity  still  retained  for  him  the  situation  at 
Creston,  and  in  order  that  there  should  be  as  little  interrup- 
tion as  possible  to  his  duties  there,  he  had  decided  not  to 
come  to  Knapwater  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  to  return 
to  Creston  by  the  first  train  the  next  morning,  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe  having  made  a  point  of  frequently  offering  him  lodging 
for  an  unlimited  period,  to  the  great  pleasure  of  Cytherea. 

He  reached  the  house  about  four  o'clock,  and  ringing  the 
bell  of  the  side  entrance,  asked  of  the  page  who  answered 
it  for  Miss  Graye. 

When  Graye  spoke  the  name  of  his  sister,  Manston, 
who  was  just  coming  out  from  an  interview  with  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe,  passed  him  in  the  vestibule  and  heard  the  question. 
The  steward's  face  grew  hot,  and  he  secretly  clenched  his 
hands.  He  half  crossed  the  Court,  then  turned  his  head  and 
saw  that  the  lad  still  stood  at  the  door,  though  Owen  had 
been  shown  into  the  house.     Manston  went  back  to  him. 

"  Who  was  that  man  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir." 

'•  Has  he  ever  been  here  before  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  How  many  times  ?  " 

"  Three." 

"  You  are  sure  you  don't  know  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  is  Miss  Graye's  brother,  sir." 

"  Then  why  the  devil  didn't  you  say  so  before  ?  "  Manston 
exclaimed,  and  again  went  on  his  way. 

"  Of  course  that  was  not  the  man  of  my  dreams — of  course, 
it  couldn't  be  !  "  he  said  to  \  imself.     "  That  I  should  be  such 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 


143 


a  fool — such  an  utter  fool.  Good  God  !  to  allow  a  girl 
to  influence  me  like  this,  day  after  day,  till  1  am  jealous  of 
her  very  brother.  A  lady's  dependent,  a  waif,  a  helpless 
thing  entirely  at  the  mercy  of  the  world  ;  yes,  curse  it,  that 
is  just  why  it  is  ;  that  fact  of  her  being  so  helpless  against 
the  blows  of  circumstances  which  renders  her  so  deliciously 
sweet ! " 

He  paused  opposite  his  house.  Should  he  get  his  horse 
saddled  ?     No. 

He  went  down  the  drive  and  out  of  the  park,  having 
started  to  proceed  to  an  outlying  spot  on  the  estate  concern- 
ing some  draining,  and  to  call  at  the  potter's  yard  to  make 
an  arrangement  for  the  supply  of  pipes.  But  a  remark 
which  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  dropped  in  relation  to  Cytherea, 
was  what  still  occupied  his  mind,  and  had  been  the  immedi- 
ate cause  of  his  excitement  at  the  sight  of  her  brother.  Miss 
Aldclyffe  had  meaningly  remarked  during  their  intercourse, 
that  Cytherea  was  wildly  in  love  with  Edward  Springrove,  in 
spite  of  his  engagement  to  his  cousin  Adelaide. 

"  How  I  am  harassed!  "  he  said  aloud,  after  deep  thought 
for  half  an  hour,  while  still  continuing  his  walk  with  the 
greatest  vehemence.  "  How  I  am  harassed  by  these  emotions 
of  mine  ! "  He  calmed  himself  by  an  effort.  "  Well,  duty 
after  all  it  shall  be,  as  nearly  as  I  can  effect  it.  '  Honesty 
is  the  best  policy,'  "  with  which  vigorously  uttered  resolve, 
he  once  more  attempted  to  turn  his  attention  to  the  prosy 
object  of  his  journey. 

The  evening  had  closed  in  to  a  dark  and  dreary  night 
when  the  steward  came  from  the  potter's  door  to  proceed 
homewards  again.  The  gloom  did  not  tend  to  raise  his 
spirits,  and  in  the  total  lack  of  objects  to  attract  his  eye,  he 
soon  fell  to  introspection  as  before.  It  was  along  the  mar- 
gin of  turnip  fields  that  his  path  lay,  and  the  large  leaves  of 
the  crop  struck  flatly  against  his  feet  at  every  step,  pouring 
upon  them  the  rolling  drops  of  moisture  gathered  upon  their 
broad  surfaces  ;  but  the  annoyance  was  unheeded.  Next 
reaching  a  fir  plantation,  he  mounted  the  stile  and  followed 
the  path  into  the  midst  of  the  darkness  produced  by  the 
overhanging  trees. 

After  walking  undei  the  dense  shade  of  the  inky  boughs 
for  a  few  minutes,  he  fancied  he  had  mistaken  the  path, 


1^4  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

which  as  yet  was  scarcely  familiar  to  him.  This  was  proved 
directly  afterwards  by  his  coming  at  right  angles  upon  some 
obstruction,  which  careful  feeling  with  outstretched  hands 
soon  told  Iiim  to  be  a  rail  fence.  However,  as  the  wood 
was  not  large,  he  experienced  no  alarm  about  finding  the 
path  again,  and  with  some  sense  of  pleasure  halted  awhile 
against  the  rails,  to  listen  to  the  intensely  melancholy  yet 
musical  wail  of  the  fir-tops,  and  as  the  wind  passed  on,  the 
prompt  moan  of  an  adjacent  plantation  in  reply.  He  could 
just  dimly  discern  the  airy  summons  of  the  two  or  three  trees 
nearest  him  waving  restlessly  backwards  and  forwards,  and 
stretching  out  their  boughs  like  hairy  arms  into  the  dull  sky. 
The  scene,  from  its  striking  and  emphatic  loneliness,  began 
to  grow  congenial  to  his  mood  ;  all  of  human  kind  seemed 
at  the  antipodes. 

A  sudden  rattle  on  his  right  hand  caused  him  to  start  from 
his  reverie,  and  turn  in  that  direction. 

There,  before  him,  he  saw  rise  up  from  among  the  trees  a 
fountain  of  sparks  and  smoke,  then  a  red  glare  of  light 
coming  forward  towards  him  ;  then  a  flashing  panorama  of 
illuminated  oblong  pictures ;  then  the  old  darkness,  more 
impressive  than  ever. 

The  surprise,  which  had  owed  its  origin  to  his  imperfect 
acquaintance  with  the  topographical  features  of  that  end  of 
the  estate,  had  been  but  momentary. 

The  disturbance,  a  well-known  one  to  dwellers  by  a 
railway,  was  caused  by  the  6.50  down-train  passing  along  a 
shallow  cutting  in  the  midst  of  the  wood  immediately  below 
where  he  stood,  the  driver  having  the  fire  door  of  the  engine 
open  at  the  minute  of  going  by.  The  train  had,  when  pass- 
ing him,  already  considerably  slackened  speed,  and  now  a 
whistle  was  heard  announcing  that  Carriford-Road  Station 
was  not  far  in  its  van. 

But  contrary  to  the  natural  order  of  things,  the  discovery 
that  it  was  only  a  common-place  train  had  not  caused  Man 
ston  to  stir  from  his  position  of  facing  the  railway. 

If  the  6.50  down-train  had  been  a  flash  of  forked  lightning 
transfixing  him  to  the  earth,  he  could  scarcely  have  remained 
in  a  more  trance-like  state.  He  still  leant  against  the  railings, 
his  right  hand  still  continued  pressing  on  his  walking-stick, 
his  weight  on  one  foot,  his  other  heel  raised,  his  eyes  wide 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


145 


open  towards  the  blackness  of  the  cutting.  The  only  move- 
ment in  him  was  a  slight  dropping  of  the  lower  jaw,  separat- 
ing his  previously  closed  lips  a  little  way,  as  when  a  strange 
conviction  rushes  home  suddenly  upon  a  man. 

A  new  surprise,  not  nearly  so  trivial  as  the  first,  had  taken 
possession  of  him. 

It  was  on  this  account.  At  one  of  the  illuminated  win- 
dows of  a  second-class  carriage  in  the  series  gone  by,  lie  had 
seen  a  pale  face,  reclining  ujion  one  hand,  the  light  from  the 
lamp  falling  full  upon  it.     The  face  was  a  woman's. 

At  last  he  moved  ;  gave  a  whispering  kind  of  whistle,  ad- 
justed his  hat,  and  walked  on  again. 

He  was  cross-questioning  himself  in  every  direction  as  to 
how  a  piece  of  knowledge  he  had  carefully  concealed  had 
found  its  way  to  another  person's  inteUigence.  "Haw  can 
my  address  have  become  known,"  he  said  at  length,  audibly. 
"  Well,  it  is  a  blessing  I  have  been  circumspect  and  honor- 
able, in  relation  to  that — yes,  I  will  say  it,  for  once,  even  if 
the  words  choke  me,  that  darling  of  mine,  Cytherea,  never 
to  be  my  own,  never.  I  suppose  all  will  come  out  now. 
All ! "  The  great  sadness  of  his  utterance  proved  that  no 
mean  force  had  been  exercised  upon  himself  to  sustain  the 
circumspection  he  had  just  claimed. 

He  wheeled  to  the  left,  pursued  the  ditch  beside  the  rail- 
way fence,  and  presently  emerged  from  the  wood,  stepping 
into  a  road  which  crossed  the  railway  by  a  bridge. 

As  he  neared  home,  the  anxiety  lately  written  in  his  face, 
merged  by  degrees  into  a  grimly  humorous  smile,  which 
hung  long  upon  his  lips,  and  he  quoted  aloud  a  line  from  the 
Book  of  Jeremiah  : — 

"  A  woman  shall  compass  a  man." 


§  3.  November  the  nineteenth.     Daybreak. 

Before  it  was  light  the  next  morning,  two  little  naked  feet 
pattered  along  the  passage  in  Knapwater  House,  from 
which  Owen  Graye's  bedroom  opened,  and  a  tap  was  given 
upon  his  door. 

"  Owen,  Owen,  are  you  awake  ? "  said  Cytherea  in  a 
7 


146  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

whisper  through  the  keyhole.  *•  You  must  get  up  dir«:tty^ 
or  you'll  miss  the  train." 

When  he  descended  to  his  sister^s  little  room,  he  found 
her  there  already  waiting  widi  a  cup  of  cocoa  and  a  grilled 
rasher  on  the  table  for  him.  A  hasty  meal  was  despatched 
in  the  intervals  of  pmtting  or  his  overcoat  and  finding  his 
hat,  and  they  then  went  softly  through  the  long  deserted  pas- 
sages, the  kitchen-maid  who  had  prepared  their  br^kfast 
walking  before  them  with  a  lamp  held  high  above  her  head, 
which  cast  long  wheeling  shadows  down  corridors  intersect- 
ing the  one  they  followed,  their  remoter  ends  being  lost  in 
darkness.     The  door  was  unbolted  and  they  stepped  out 

Owen  had  preferred  walking  to  the  station  to  accepting 
the  pony-carriage  which  Miss  Alddyffe  had  placed  at  his  dis- 
posal, having  a  mnrhid  horror  of  £pYin£;  tTonblr_tn_[tgorlr 
above  him  in  rank,  and  e^>eoally  to  their  men-servants, 
wBd~Iooked^  down  upon  him  as  a  hybrid  monster  from  re- 
gions far  below  the  touch-my-hat  stage  of  supremacy.  Cy- 
therea  proposed  to  walk  a  little  way  with  him. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  as  long  as  I  can,"  she  said  ten- 
derly. 

Brother  and  sister  then  emerged  by  the  heavy  door  into 
the  drive.  The  feeling  and  aspect  of  the  hour  were  pre- 
cisely similar  to  those  under  which  the  steward  had  left  the 
house  the  evening  previous,  excepting  that  apparently  un- 
earthly reversal  of  natural  sequence,  which  is  caused  by  the 
world  getting  lifter  instead  of  darker.  "  The  tearful  glim- 
mer of  the  languid  dawn  "  was  just  sufficient  to  reveal  to 
them  the  melancholy  red  leaves,  lying  thickly  in  the  chan- 
nels by  the  roadside,  ever  and  anon  loudly  tapped  on  by 
heavy  drops  of  water,  which  the  boughs  above  had  collected 
from  the  foggy  air. 

They  passed  the  Old  House  engaged  in  a  deep  conversa- 
tion, and  had  proceeded  about  twenty  yards  by  a  cross 
route,  in  the  direction  of  the  tmnpike  road,  when  the  fwm 
of  a  woman  emerged  from  the  petdi-of  the  building. 

She  was  wrapped  in  a  gray  waterproof  doak,  the  hood 
of  which  was  drawn  over  her  head  and  closely  rotmd  her 
face — so  closely  that  her  eyes  were  the  sole  features  un- 
covered. 

With  this  one  exception  of  her  appearance  there,  tlie  most 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  1 47 

perfect  stillness  and  silence  pervaded  the  steward's  residence 
from  basement  to  chimney.  Not  a  shutter  was  open  ;  not  a 
twine  of  smoke  came  forth. 

Underneath  the  ivy-covered  gateway  she  stood  still  and 
listened  for  two,  or  possibly  three  minutes,  till  she  became 
conscious  of  others  in  the  park. 

Seeing  the  pair  she  stepped  back,  with  the  apparent  in- 
tention of  letting  them  pass  out  of  sight,  and  evidently  wish- 
ing to  avoid  observation.  But  looking  at  her  watch,  and  re- 
turning it  rapidly  to  her  pocket,  as  if  surprised  at  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour,  she  hurried  out  again,  and  across  the  park 
by  a  still  more  oblique  line  than  that  traced  by  Owen  and 
his  sister. 

These  in  the  meantime  had  got  into  the  road,  and  were 
walking  along  it  as  the  woman  came  up  on  the  other  side  of 
the  boundary  hedge,  looking  for  a  gate  or  stile,  by  which  she 
too  might  get  off  the  grass  upon  hard  ground. 

Their  conversation,  of  which  every  word  was  clear  and  dis- 
tinct, in  the  still  air  of  the  dawn,  to  the  distance  of  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  reached  her  ears,  and  withdrew  her  attention  from 
all  other  matters  and  sights  whatsoever.  Thus  arrested  she 
stood  for  an  instant  as  precisely  in  the  attitude  of  Imogen 
by  the  cave  of  Belarius,  as  if  she  had  studied  the  position 
from  the  play. 

When  they  had  advanced  a  few  steps,  she  followed  them 
in  some  doubt,  still  screened  by  the  hedge. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  such  odd  coincidences  ? "  said  Cy- 
therea. 

"  How  do  you  mean,  believe  in  them  ?  They  occur 
sometimes." 

"  Yes,  one  will  occur  often  enough — that  is,  two  discon- 
nected events  will  fall  strangely  together  by  chance,  and 
people  scarcely  notice  the  fact  beyond  saying,  *  Oddly 
enough  it  happened  that  so  and  so  were  the  same,'  and  so 
on.  But  when  three  such  events  coincide  without  any  ap- 
parent reason  for  the  coincidence,  it  seems  as  if  tliere  must 
be  invisible  means  at  work.  You  see,  three  things  faUing 
together  in  that  manner  are  ten  times  as  singular  as  two 
cases  of  coincidence  which  are  distinct." 

"  Well  of  course  :  what  a  mathematical  head  you  have, 
Cytherea.     But  I  don't   see  so  much  to  marvel  at  in  our 


148  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

case.  That  the  man  who  kept  the  public-house  in  which 
Miss  Aldclyffe  fainted,  and  who  found  out  her  name  and  po 
sition,  lives  in  this  neighborhood,  is  accounted  for  by  the  fad 
that  she  got  him  the  berth  to  stop  his  tongue.  That  you 
came  here  was  simply  owing  to  Springrove." 

"  Ah,  but  look  at  this.  Miss  Aldclyffe  is  the  woman  our 
father  first  loved,  and  I  have  come  to  Miss  Aldclyfife's  ;  you 
can't  get  over  that." 

From  these  premises,  she  proceeded  to  argue  like  an 
elderly  divine  on  the  designs  of  Providence  which  were 
apparent  in  such  conjunctures,  and  went  into  a  variety  of  de- 
tails connected  with  Miss  Aldclyffe's  history. 

"  Had  I  better  tell  Miss  Aldclyffe  that  I  know  all  this  ?" 
she  inquired  at  last. 

'•  What's  the  use  ?  "  he  said.  "  Your  possessing  the  knowl- 
edge does  no  harm  ;  you  are  at  any  rate  comfortable  here, 
and  a  confession  to  Miss  Aldclyffe  might  only  irritate  her. 
No,  hold  your  tongue,  Cytherea." 

"  I  fancy  I  should  have  been  tempted  to  tell  her  too," 
Cytherea  went  on,  "had  I  not  found  out  that  there  exists  a 
very  odd,  almost  imperceptible,  and  yet  real  connection  of 
some  kind  between  her  and  Mr.  Manston,  which  is  more  | 
than  that  of  a  mutual  interest  in  the  estate." 

"She  is  in  love  with  him!"  exclaimed  Owen,  "fancy 
that !  " 

"Ah — that's  what  everybody  says  who  has  been  keen 
enough  to  notice  anything.  I  said  so  at  first.  And  yet 
now  1  cannot  persuade  myself  that  she  is  in  love  with  him 
at  all." 

"  Why  can't  you?" 

"  She  doesn't  act  as  if  she  were.  She  isn't — you  will 
know  I  don't  say  it  from  any  vanity,  Owen — she  isn't  the 
least  jealous  of  me." 

"Perhaps  she  is  in  some  way  in  his  power." 

"  No — she  is  not.  He  is  openly  advertised  for,  and 
chosen  from  forty  or  fifty  whc  answered  the  advertisement, 
without  knowing  whose  it  was.  And  since  he  has  been 
here,  she  has  certainly  done  nothing  to  compromise  herself 
in  any  way.  Besides,  why  should  she  have  brought  an  enemy 
here  at  all?" 

"Tien   she  must  have  fallen   in    love  with  him.      You 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


149 


know  as  well  as  I  do,  Cyth,  that  with  women  there's  nothing 
between  the  two  poles  of  emotion  towards  an  interesting 
male  acquaintance.     'Tis  either  love  or  hate." 

They  walked  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence,  when  Cytherea's 
eyes  accidentally  fell  upon  her  brother's  feet. 

"  Owen,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know  that  there  is  something 
imiisual  in  your  manner  of  walking  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  like  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  can't  quite  say,  except  that  you  don't  walk  soregularlj_ 
asj^ouiised  to." 

The  woman  behind  the  hedge,  who  had  still  continued  to 
dog  their  footsteps,  made  an  impatient  movement  at  this 
change  in  their  conversation,  and  looked  at  her  watch  again. 
Yet  she  seemed  reluctant  to  give  over  listening. 

"  Yes,"  Owen  returned  with  assumed  carelessness,  "  I  do 
know  it.  I  think  the  cause  of  it  is  that  mysterious  pain 
which  comes  just  above  my  ankle  sometimes.  You  renieh> 
ber  the  first  time  I  had  it  ?  That  day  we  went  by  steam- 
packet  to  Lewborne  Bay,  when  it  hindered  me  from  coming 
back  to  you,  and  compelled  me  to  sleep  with  the  gateman 
we  have  been  talking  about." 

"But  is  it  anything  serious,  dear  Owen?"  Cytherea  ex- 
claimed with  some  alarm. 

"  O  nothing  at  all.  It  is  sure  to  go  off  again.  I  never 
find  a  sign  of  it  when  I  sit  in  the  office." 

Again  their  unperceived  companion  made  a  gesture  of 
vexation,  and  looked  at  her  watch. 

But  the  dialogue  still  flowed  on  upon  this  new  subject, 
and  showed  no  sign  of  returning  to  its  old  channel. 

Gathering  up  her  skirt  decisively  she  renounced  all  further 
hope,  and  hurried  along  the  ditch  till  she  had  dropped  into 
a  valley,  and  came  to  a  gate  which  was  beyond  the  view  of 
those  coming  behind.  This  she  softly  opened,  and  came 
out  upon  the  road,  following  it  in  the  direction  of  the  rail- 
way station. 

Presently  she  heard  Owen  Graye's  footsteps  in  her  rear, 
his  quickened  pace  implying  that  he  had  parted  from  his 
sister.  The  woman  thereupon  increased  her  rapid  walk  to 
a  run,  and  in  a  few  minutes  safely  distanced  her  fellow  trav- 
eller. 

The  railway  at  Carriford  Road  consisted  only  of  a  single 


I50 


DESPERATE  I?  E  ME  LIES. 


line  of  rails  ;  and  the  short  local  down-train  by  which  Owen 
was  going  to  Creston  was  switched  on  to  a  siding,  whilr.t  the 
first  up-train  passed.  Graye  entered  the  waiting  room,  and 
the  door  being  open  he  listlessly  observed  the  movements 
of  a  woman  wearing  a  long  gray  cloak,  and  closely  hooded, 
who  had  asked  for  a  ticket  for  London. 

He  followed  her  with  his  eyes  on  to  the  platform,  saw  her 
waiting  there  and  afterwards  stepping  into  the  train  ;  his 
recollection  of  her  ceasing  with  the  perception. 


§  4.  Eight  to  ten  o'clock  a.  in. 

Mrs.  Crickett,  twice  a  widow,  and  now  the  parish  clerk's 
wife,  a  fine-framed,  scandal-loving  woman,  with  a  pecnHar 
corner  to  her  eye  by  which,  without  turning  her  head,  she 
could  see  what  peoj^le  were  doing  almost  behind  her,  lived  in 
a  cottage  standing  nearer  to  the  old  manor-house  than  any 
other  in  the  village  of  Carriford,  and  she  had  on  that  account 
been  temporarily  engaged  by  the  steward,  as  a  respectable 
kind  of  charwoman  and  general  servant,  until  a  settled  ar- 
rangement could  be  made  with  some  person  as  permanent 
domestic. 

Every  morning,  therefore,  Mrs.  Crickett,  immediately  she 
had  lighted  the  fire  in  her  own  cottage,  and  prepared  the 
breakfast  for  herself  and  husband,  wended  her  way  to  the 
Old  House  to  do  the  same  for  Mr.  Manston.  Then  she 
went  home  to  breakfast,  and  when  the  steward  had  partaken 
of  his,  and  had  gone  out  on  his  rounds,  she  returned  again 
to  clear  away,  make  his  bed,  and  put  the  house  in  order  for 
the  day. 

On  the  morning  of  Owen  Graye's  departure,  she  went 
through  the  operations  of  her  first  visit  as  usual — proceeded 
home  to  breakfast,  and  went  back  again,  to  perform  those  of 
the  second. 

Entering  Manston's  empty  bedroom,  with  her  hands  on 
her  hips,  she  indifferently  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  bed,  pre- 
viously to  dismantling  it. 

Whilst  she  looked,  she  thought  in  an  inattentive  manner, 
"  What  a  remarkably  quiet  sleeper  Mr.  Manston  must  be  !  " 
The  upper  bedclothes  were  flung  back,  certainly,  but  the 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 


151 


bed  was  scarcely  disarranged.  "  Anybody  would  almost 
fancy,"  she  thought,  "  that  he  had  made  it  himself  after  ris- 
ing." 

But  these  evanescent  thoughts  vanished  as  they  had 
come,  and  Mrs.  Crickelt  set  to  work  ;  she  dragged  off  the 
counterpane,  blankets,  and  sheets,  and  stooped  to  lift  the 
pillows.  Thus  stooping,  something  arrested  her  attention  ; 
she  looked  closely — more  closely — very  closely.  "Well,  to 
be  sure  !  "  was  all  she  could  say.  The  clerk's  wife  stood  as 
if  the  air  had  suddenly  set  to  amber,  and  held  her  fixed  like 
a  fly  in  it. 

The  object  of  her  wonder  was  a  trailing  brown  hair,  very 
little  less  than  a  yard  long,  which  proved  it  clearly  to  be  a 
hair  from  some  woman's  head.  She  drew  it  off  the  pillow 
and  took  it  to  the  window ;  there  holding  it  out  she  looked 
fixedly  at  it,  and  became  utterly  lost  in  meditation ;  her 
gaze,  which  had  at  first  actively  settled  on  the  hair  involun- 
tarily dropped  past  its  object  by  degrees  and  was  lost  on  the 
floor,  as  the  inner  vision  obscured  the  outer  one. 

She  at  length  moistened  her  lips,  returned  her  eyes  to  the 
hair,  wound  it  round  her  fingers,  put  it  in  some  paper,  and 
secreted  the  whole  in  her  pocket.  Mrs.  Crickett's  thoughts 
were  with  her  work  no  more  that  morning. 

She  searched  the  house  from  roof-tree  to  cellar,  for  some 
other  trace  of  feminine  existence  or  appurtenance  ;  but  none 
was  to  be  found. 

She  went  out  into  the  yard,  coal-hole,  stable,  hay-loft, 
green-house,  fowl-house,  and  piggery,  and  still  there  was  no 
sign.  Coming  in  again,  she  saw  a  bonnet,  eagerly  pounced 
upon  it,  and  found  it  to  be  her  own. 

Hastily  completing  her  arrangements  in  the  other  rooms, 
she  entered  the  village  again,  and  called  at  once  on  the  post- 
mistress, Mrs.  Leat,  an  intimate  friend  of  hers,  and  a  female 
who  sported  several  unique  diseases  and  afflictions. 

Mrs.  Crickett  unfolded  the  paper,  took  out  the  hair,  and 
waved  it  on  high  before  the  perplexed  eyes  of  Mrs.  Leat, 
which  immediately  mooned  and  wandered  after  it  like  a  cat's. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Mrs.  Leat,  contracting  her  eyelids, 
and  stretching  out  towards  the  invisible  object  a  narrow 
bony  liand  that  would  have  been  an  unparalleled  delight 
to  the  pencil  of  Carlo  Crivelli. 


152 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


"  You  shall  hear,"  said  Mrs.  Crickett,  complacently  gath- 
ering up  the  treasure  into  her  own  fat  hand  ;  and  the  secret 
was  then  solemnly  imparted,  together  with  the  accident  o( 
its  discovery. 

A  shaving-glass  was  taken  down  from  a  nail,  laid  on  its 
back  in  the  middle  of  a  table  by  the  window,  and  the  hair 
spread  carefully  out  upon  it.  The  pair  then  bent  over  the 
table  from  opposite  sides,  their  elbows  on  the  edge,  their 
hands  supporting  their  heads,  their  foreheads  nearly  touching, 
and  their  eyes  upon  the  hair. 

"He  ha' been  mad  a'ter  my  lady  Cytherea,"  said  Mrs. 
Crickett,  "and  'tis  my  very  belief  the  hair  is — " 

"  No  'tidn'.     Hers  id'n  so  dark  as  that,"  said  Mrs.  Leat. 

"  Mrs.  Leat,  you  know  me,  and  have  known  me  for  many 
years,"  said  the  clerk's  wife  parenthetically. 

"  True,  I  have,  Mrs.  Crickett." 

"  And  you  know  that  as  the  faithful  wife  of  a  servant  of 
the  Church,  I  should  be  glad  to  think  as  you  do  about  the 
hair.  Mind  1  don't  wish  to  say  anything  against  Miss 
(iraye,  but  this  I  do  say,  that  I  believe  her  to  be  a  name- 
less thing,  and  she's  no  right  to  stick  a  moral  clock  in  her 
face,  and  deceive  the  country  in  such  a  way.  If  she  wasn't 
of  a  bad  stock  at  the  outset,  she  was  bad  in  the  planten, 
and  if  she  wasn't  bad  in  the  planten,  she  was  bad  in  the 
growen,  and  if  not  in  the  growen,  she's  made  bad  by  what 
she  gone  through  since." 

"  But  I  have  another  reason  for  knowing  it  idn'  hers," 
said  Mrs.  Leat. 

"Ah!  I  know  whose  it  is  then — Miss  Aldclyffe's,  upon 
my  song ! " 

"'Tis  the  color  of  hers,  but  I  don't  believe  it  to  be  hers 
either." 

"  Don't  you  believe  what  they  d'  say  about  her  and  him  ?  " 

"I  say  nothen  about  that;  but  you  don't  know  what  1 
know  about  his  letters." 

"What  about  'em?" 

"  He  d'  post  all  his  letters  here  except  them  for  one  per- 
son, and  they  he  d'  take  to  Creston.  My  son  is  in  Creston 
Post  Otfice,  as  you  know,  and  as  he  d'  sit  at  desk  he  can 
see  over  the  blind  of  the  window  all  the  people  who  d'  post 
letters.     Mr.  Manston  d'  unvariably  go  there  wi'  letters  foi 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


153 


that    person ;    my  boy  d'  know  'em   by  sight  well  enough 
now." 

"  Is  it  a  she  ?  " 

"'Tis  a  she." 

'■  What's  her  name  ?  " 

''•  The  little  stunpoU  of  a  fellow  couldn't  call  to  mind 
more  than  that  'tis  Miss  Somebody  of  London.  However, 
that's  the  woman  who  ha'  been  here,  depend  upon't — a 
wicked  one — some  poor  street-creature  escaped  from  Sodom, 
I  warrant  ye." 

"  Only  to  find  herself  in  Gomorrah,  seemingly." 

"  That  may  be." 

"No,  no,  Mrs.  Leat,  this  is  clear  to  me.  'Tis  no  Miss 
who  came  here  to  see  our  steward  last  night — whenever  she 
came,  or  wherever  she  vanished.  Do  you  think  he  would 
ha'  let  a  Miss,  get  here  how  she  could,  go  away  how  she 
would,  without  breakfast  or  help  of  any  kind  ?  " 

Mrs.  Leat  shook  her  head — Mrs.  Crickett  looked  at  her 
solemnly. 

"  Mrs.  Leat,  I  ask  you,  have  you,  or  ha'n't  you  known  me 
many  years  ?  " 

"  True,  I  have." 

"  And  I  say  1  d'  know  she  had  no  help  of  any  kind,  I 
know  it  was  so,  for  the  grate  was  quite  cold  when  1  touched 
it  this  morning  with  these  fingers,  and  he  was  still  in  bed. 
No,  he  wouldn't  take  the  trouble  to  write  letters  to  a  girl 
and  then  treat  her  so  off-hand  as  that.  There's  a  tie  between 
'em  stronger  than  feelen.     She's  his  wife." 

"  He  married  !  The  Lord  so  's,  what  shall  we  hear  next. 
Do  he  look  married  now?  His  are  not  the  abashed  eyes 
and  lips  of  a  married  man," 

"  Perhaps  she's  a  tame  one — but  she's  his  wife  still." 

"  No,  no  :  he's  not  a  married  man." 

"  Yes,  yes  he  is.     I've  had  three,  and  I  ought  to  know." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Leat,  giving  way,  "What- 
ever may  be  the  truth  on't  I  trust  Providence  will  settle  it 
all  for  the  best,  as  he  always  do." 

"Ay,  ay,  EHzabeth,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Crickett  with  a  satiri- 
cal sigh,  as  she  turned  on  her  foot  to  go  home,  "good  peo- 
ple like  you  may  say  so,  but  I  have  always  found  Providence 
a  different  sort  of  feller." 
7* 


154  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

\ 
§  5 .  November  the  twentieth 

It  was  Miss  AldclyfFe's  custom,  a  custom  originated  by 
her  father,  and  nourished  by  her  own  exclusiveness,  to  un- 
lock the  post-bag  herself  every  morning,  instead  of  allow- 
ing the  duty  to  devolve  on  the  butler,  as  was  the  case  in 
most  of  the  neighboring  county  families.  The  bag  was 
brought  upstairs  each  morning  to  her  dressing-room, 
where  she  took  out  the  contents,  mostly  in  the  presence  of 
her  maid  and  Cytherea,  who  had  the  entree  of  the  chamber 
at  all  hours,  and  attended  there  in  the  morning  at  a  kind  of 
reception  on  a  small  scale,  which  was  held  by  Miss  Aldclyffe 
of  her  namesake  only. 

Here  she  read  her  letters  before  the  glass,  whilst  under- 
going the  operation  of  being  brushed  and  dressed. 

"  VV^hat  woman  can  this  be,  I  wonder?"  she  said  on  the 
morning  succeeding  that  of  the  last  section,  "  '  London, 
N  ! '  It  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  ever  had  a  letter  from 
that  outlandish  place  the  North  side  of  London." 

Cytherea  had  just  come  into  her  presence  to  learn  if 
there  was  anything  for  herself;  and  on  being  thus  ad- 
dressed, walked  up  to  Miss  Aldclyffe' s  corner  of  the  room 
to  look  at  the  curiosity  which  had  raised  such  an  exclama- 
tion. But  the  lady,  having  opened  the  envelope  and  read  a 
few  lines,  put  it  quickly  in  her  pocket,  before  Cytherea  could 
reach  her  side, 

"  Oh,  'tis  nothing,"  she  said.  She  proceeded  to  make 
general  remarks  in  a  noticeably  forced  tone  of  sang-froid, 
from  which  she  soon  lapsed  into  silence.  Not  another  word 
was  said  about  the  letter  ;  she  seemed  very  anxious  to  get 
her  dressing  done  and  the  room  cleared.  Thereupon  Cy- 
therea went  away  to  the  other  window,  and  a  few  minutes 
later  left  the  room  to  follow  her  own  pursuits. 

It  was  late  when  Miss  Aldclyfie  descended  to  the  break 
fast-table,  and  then  she  seemed  there  to  no  purpose ;  tea, 
coffee,  eggs,  cutlets,  and  all  their  accessories,  were  left  abso- 
lutely untasted.  The  next  that  was  seen  of  her  was  when 
walking  up  and  down  the  south  terrace,  and  round  the 
flower-beds  ;  her  face  was  pale,  and  her  tread  was  fitful,  and 
she  crumpled  a  letter  in  her  hand. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


155 


Dinner-time  came  round  as  usual ;  she  did  not  speak  ten 
words,  or  indeed  seem  conscious  of  the  meal ;  for  all  that 
Miss  Aldclyfife  did  in  the  way  of  eating,  dinner  might  have 
been  taken  out  as  perfect  as  it  was  taken  in. 

In  her  own  private  apartment  Miss  Aldclyffe  again  pulled 
out  the  letter  of  the  morning.  One  passage  in  it  ran 
thus  : — 

"Of  course,  being  his  wife,  I  could  publish  the  fact,  and 
compel  him  to  acknowledge  me  at  any  moment,  notwith- 
standing his  threats,  and  reasonings  that  it  will  be  better  to 
wait.  I  have  waited,  and  waited  again,  and  the  time  for 
such  acknowledgment  seems  no  nearer  than  at  first.  To 
show  you  how  patiently  I  have  waited,  I  can  tell  you  that 
not  till  a  fortnight  ago,  when  by  stress  of  circumstances  I 
had  been  driven  to  new  lodgings,  have  I  ever  assumed  my 
married  name,  solely  on  account  of  its  having  been  his  re- 
quest all  along  that  I  should  not.  This  writing  to  you, 
madam,  is  my  first  disobedience,  and  I  am  justified  in  it. 
A  woman  who  is  driven  to  visit  her  husband  like  a  thief  in 
the  night,  and  then  sent  away  like  a  street  dog  ;  left  to  get 
up,  unbolt,  unbar,  and  find  her  way  out  of  the  house  as  she 
best  may,  is  justified  in  doing  anything. 

"  But  should  I  demand  of  him  a  restitution  of  rights, 
there  would  be  involved  a  publicity  which  I  could  not  en- 
dure, and  a  noisy  scandal  flinging  my  name  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  country. 

"What  I  still  prefer  to  any  such  violent  means  is  that 
you  reason  with  him  privately,  and  compel  him  to  bring  me 
home  to  your  i)arish  in  a  decent  and  careful  manner,  in  a 
way  that  would  be  adopted  by  any  resj^ectable  man,  whose 
wife  had  been  living  away  from  him  for  some  time,  by  rea- 
son, say,  of  peculiar  family  circumstances  which  liad  caused 
disunion,  but  not  enmity,  and  who  at  length  was  enabled  to 
reinstate  her  in  his  house. 

"  You  will,  I  know,  oblige  me  in  this,  especially  as  knowl- 
edge of  a  peculiar  transaction  of  your  own,  which  took 
place  some  years  ago,  has  lately  come  to  me  in  a  singular 
way.  I  will  not  at  present  trouble  you  by  describing  how. 
I ^ is^  e-nougJvtliJi  I  alone,  of  all  people  living,  know  all  the^^ 
sides  of  the  story,  those  from  whom  I  collected  it  having 
each  only  a  partial  knowledge   which  confuses  them  and 


156  DESPERATE  REMEDIES, 

points  to  nothing.  One  person  knows  of  your  early  en- 
gagement and  its  sudden  tennination  ;  another,  of  the  rea- 
son of  those  strange  meetings  at  inns  and  coffee-houses  ; 
another,  of  what  was  sufficient  to  cause  all  this,  and  so  on. 
I  know  what  fits  one  and  all  the  circumstances  like  a  key, 
and  shows  them  to  be  the  natural  outcrop  of  a  rational 
(though  rather  rash)  line  of  conduct  for  a  young  lady.  You 
will  at  once  perceive  how  it  was  that  some  at  least  of  these 
things  were  revealed  to  me. 

"  This  knowledge  then,  common  to,  and  secretly  treas- 
ured by  us  both,  is  the  ground  upon  which  I  beg  for  your 
I'riendship  and  help,  with  a  feeling  that  you  will  be  too  gen- 
<.'rous  to  refuse  it  to  me. 

"  I  may  add  that,  as  yet,  my  husband  knows  nothing  of 
vhis,  neither  need  he  if  you  remember  n)y  request." 

"  A  threat — a  flat,  stinging  threat  I  as  delicately  wrapped 
up  in  words  as  the  wouian  could  do  it ;  a  threat  from  a  mis- 
erable unknown  wench  to  an  AldclyfFe,  and  not  the  least 
proud  member  of  the  family  either  !  A  threat  on  his  ac- 
count—O,  O,  shall  it  be  ?" 

Presently  this  humour  of  defiance  vanished,  and  the 
members  of  her  body  became  supple  again,  her  proceedings 
proving  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  give  way,  Ald- 
clyffe  as  she  was.  She  wrote  a  short  answer  to  Mrs.  Man- 
ston,  saying  civilly  that  Mr.  Mansion's  possession  of  such  a 
near  relation  was  a  fact  quite  new  to  herself,  and  that  she 
would  see  what  could  be  done  in  such  an  unfortunate  affair. 


§  6.  November  the  twenty-first. 

Manston  received  a  message  the  next  day  requesting  his 
attendance  at  the  house  punctually  at  eight  o'clock  the 
ensuing  evening.  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  brave  and  imperious, 
but  with  the  purpose  she  had  in  view  she  could  not  look 
him  in  the  face  whilst  daylight  shone  upon  her. 

The  steward  was  shown  into  the  library.  On  entering  it, 
he  was  immediately  struck  with  the  unusual  gloom  which  per- 
vaded the  apartment.  The  fire  was  dead  and  dull,  one  lamp, 
and  that  a  comparatively  small  one,  vvas  burning  at  the  ex- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


157 


treme  end,  leaving  the  main  proportion  of  the  lofty  and  som- 
bre room  in  an  artificial  twilight,  scarcely  powerful  enough  to 
render  visible  the  titles  of  the  folio  and  quarto  volumes 
which  were  jammed  into  the  lower  tiers  of  die  book-shelves, 

After  kee|)ing  him  waiting  for  more  than  twenty  minutes 
{Miss  Aldclyffe  knew  that  excellent  recipe  for  taking  the 
stiffness  out  of  human  flesh,  and  for  extracting  all  pre- 
arrangement  from  human  speech)  she  entered  the  room. 

Manston  sought  her  eye  directly.  The  hue  of  her  features 
was  not  discernible,  but  the  calm  glance  she  flung  at  him, 
from  which  all  attempt  at  returning  his  scrutiny  was  absent, 
awoke  him  to  the  perception  that  probably  his  secret  was 
by  some  means  or  other  known  to  her;  how  it  had  become 
known  he  could  not  tell. 

She  drew  forth  the  letter,  unfolded  it,  and  held  it  up  to 
him,  letting  it  hang  by  one  corner  from  between  her  finger 
and  thumb,  so  that  the  light  from  the  lamp,  though  remote, 
fell  directly  upon  its  surface. 

"You  know  whose  writing  this  is?  "  she  said. 

He  saw  the  strokes  plainly,  instantly  resolving  to  burn 
his  ships  and  hazard  all  on  an  advance. 

"  My  wife's,"  he  said  calmly. 

His  quiet  answer  threw  her  off  her  balance.  She  had  no 
more  expected  an  answer  than  does  a  preacher  when  he  ex- 
claims from  the  pulpit,  "  Do  you  feel  your  sin  ?  "  She  had 
clearly  expected  a  sudden  alarm. 

"And  why  all  this  concealment?"  she  said  again,  her 
voice  rising,  as  she  vainly  endeavored  to  control  her  feel- 
ings, whatever  they  were. 

"  It  doesn't  follow  that,  because  a  man  is  married,  he 
must  tell  every  stranger  of  it,  madam,"  he  answered,  just 
as  calmly  as  before. 

"  Stranger  !  well,  perhaps  not ;  but  Mr.  Manston,  why  did 
you  choose  to  conceal  it,  I  ask  again?  I  have  a  perfect 
right  to  ask  this  question,  as  you  will  perceive,  if  you  con- 
sider the  terms  of  my  advertisement." 

"  I  will  tell  you.  There  were  two  simple  reasons.  The 
first  was  this  practical  one  :  you  advertised  for  an  unmarried 
man,  if  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  remember." 

"Well,  an  incident  iuggested  to  me  that  I  should  try  for 


158  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

the  situation.  I  was  married  ;  but,  knowing  that  in  getting  an 
office  where  there  is  a  restriction  of  this  kind,  leaving  one's 
wife  behind  is  always  accepted  as  a  fulfilment  of  the  article, 
I  left  her  behind  for  awhile.  The  other  reason  is,  that  these 
terms  of  yours  afforded  me  a  plausible  excuse  for  escaping 
(for  a  short  time)  the  company  of  a  woman  I  had  been  mis 
taken  in  marrying." 

"  Mistaken  !  what  was  she  ?  "  the  lady  inquired 

"  A  third-rate  actress,  whom  I  met  with  during  my  stay 
in  Liverpool  last  summer,  where  I  had  gone  to  fulfil  a  short 
engagement  with  an  architect." 

"  Where  did  she  come  from  ?  " 

"  She  is  an  American  by  birth,  and  I  grew  to  dislike  her 
when  we  had  been  married  a  week," 

"  She  was  ugly,  I  imagine  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  an  ugly  woman  by  any  means.'' 

"  Up  to  the  ordinary  standard  ?  " 

"  Quite  up  to  the  ordinary  standard,  indeed  handsome. 
After  a  while  we  quarrelled  and  separated." 

"You  did  not  ill-use  her,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe, 
with  a  little  sarcasm. 

"  I  did  not." 

"  But  at  any  rate,  you  got  thoroughly  tired  of  her." 

Mansion  looked  as  if  he  began  to  think  her  questions  out 
of  place  ;  however,  he  said  cjuietly,  "  I  did  get  tired  of  her. 
1  never  told  her  so,  but  we  separated  ;  I  to  come  here, 
bringing  her  with  me  as  far  as  London  and  leaving  her  there 
in  perfectly  comfortable  quarters;  and  though  your  adver- 
tisement expressed  a  single  man,  I  have  always  intended  to 
tell  you  the  whole  truth  ;  and  this  was  when  I  was  going  to 
tell  it,  when  your  satisfaction  with  my  careful  management  of 
your  affairs  should  have  proved  the  risk  to  be  a  safe  one  to 
run." 

She  bowed. 

"  Then  I  saw  that  you  were  good  enough  to  be  interested 
in  my  welfare  to  a  greater  extent  than  1  could  have  antici- 
pated or  hoped,  judging  you  by  the  frigidity  of  other 
employers,  and  this  caused  me  to  hesitate.  I  was  vexed  at 
the  complication  of  affairs.  So  matters  stood  till  three 
nights  ago  ;  1  was  then  walking  home  from  the  pottery,  and 
came  uj)  to  the  railway.     The  down-train  came  along  close  to 


DISPERATE    REMEDIES. 


159 


me,  and  there,  sitting  at  a  caniage  window,  I  saw  my  wife  : 
she  had  found  out  my  address,  and  had  thereu])on  deter- 
mined to  follow  me  here.  I  had  not  been  home  many 
minutes  before  she  came  in  ;  next  morning  early  she  left 
again—" 

"  Because  you  treated  her  so  cavalierly  ?  " 

"  — And  as  I  suppose,  wrote  to  you  directly.  That's  the 
whole  story  of  her,  madam."  WHiatever  were  Manston's 
real  feelings  towards  the  lady  who  had  received  his  exi)lana- 
tion  in  these  supercilious  tones,  they  remained  locked  within 
him  as  within  a  casket  of  steel. 

"  Did  your  friends  know  of  your  marriage,  Mr.  Man- 
sion ?  "  she  continued. 

"Nobody  at  all ;  we  kept  it  a  secret  for  various  reasons." 

"  It  is  true  then  that  as  your  wife  tells  me  in  this  letter, 
she  has  not  passed  as  Mrs.  Manston  till  within  these  last 
few  days  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  true ;  I  was  in  receipt  of  a  very  small  and 
uncertain  income  when  we  married  ;  and  so  she  continued 
playing  at  the  theatre  as  befoie  our  marriage,  and  in  her 
maiden  name." 

"  Has  she  any  friends  ?" 

"  I  have  never  heard  that  she  has  any  in  England.  She 
came  over  here  on  some  theatrical  speculation,  as  one  of  a 
company  who  were  going  to  do  much,  but  who  never  did 
anything  ;  and  here  she  has  remained." 

A  pause  ensued,  which  was  terminated  by  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

"I  understand,"  she  said.  "Now,  though  I  have  no  di- 
rect right  to  concern  myself  with  your  private  affairs  (beyond 
those  which  arise  from  your  misleading  me  and  getting  the 
office  you  hold) — " 

"  As  to  that,  madam,"  he  interrujjted,  rather  hotly,  "as  to 
coming  here,  I  am  vexed  as  much  as  you.  Somebody,  a 
member  of  the  Society  of  Architects, —  who,  I  could  never 
tell — sent  to  my  old  address  in  London  your  advertisement 
cut  from  the  paper  ;  it  was  forwarded  to  me  ;  I  wanted  to 
get  away  from  Liverpool,  and  it  seemed  as  if  this  was  put  in 
my  way  on  purpose,  by  some  old  friend  or  other.  I  an- 
swered the  advertisement  certainly,  but  I  was  not  partic- 
larly  anxious  to  come  here,  nor  am  I  anxious  to  stay." 

Miss   Aldclyffe    descended    from    haughty   superiority   to 


l60  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

womanly  persuasion  with  a  haste  which  was  almost  ludi- 
crous. Indeed  the  Quos  ego  of  the  whole  lecture  had  been 
less  the  genuine  menace  of  the  imperious  ruler  of  Knapwater 
than  an  artificial  utterance  to  hide  a  failing  heart. 

"Now,  now,  Mr.  Mansion,  you  wrong  me:  don't  suppose 
I  wish  to  be  overbearing,  or  anything  of  the  kind  ;  and  you 
will  allow  me  to  say  this  much  at  any  rate,  that  I  have  be- 
come interested  in  your  wife,  as  well  as  in  yourself." 

"  Certainly,  madam,"  he  said,  slowly,  like  a  man  feeling 
his  way  in  the  dark.  Manston  was  utterly  at  fault  now. 
His  previous  experience  of  the  effect  of  his  form  and  feat- 
ures upon  womankind  en  masse,  had  taught  him  to  flatter 
himself  that  he  could  account  by  the  same  law  of  natural  se- 
lection for  the  extraordinary  interest  Miss  Aldclyfife  had 
hitherto  taken  in  him,  as  an  unmarried  man  ;  an  interest  he 
did  not  at  all  object  to,  seeing  that  it  kept  him  near  Cythe- 
rea,  and  enabled  him,  a  man  of  no  wealth,  to  rule  on  the 
estate  as  if  he  were  its  lawful  owner.  Like  Curius  at  his 
Sabine  farm,  he  had  counted  it  his  glory  not  to  possess  gold 
himself,  but  to  have  power  over  her  who  did,.  But  at  this 
hint  of  the  lady's  wish  to  take  his  wife  under  her  wing  also, 
he  was  perplexed :  could  she  have  any  sinister  motive  in  do- 
ing so  ?  But  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  troubled  with 
these  doubts,  which  only  concerned  his  wife's  happiness. 

"She  tells  me,"  continued  Miss  Aldclyffe,  "how  utterly 
alone  in  the  world  she  stands,  and  that  is  an  additional 
reason  why  I  should  sympathize  with  her.  Instead,  then,  of 
requesting  the  favor  of  your  retirement  from  the  post,  and 
dismissing  your  interests  altogether,  I  will  retain  you  as  my 
steward  still,  on  condition  that  you  bring  home  your  wife, 
and  live  with  her  respectably,  in  short,  as  if  you  loved  her  ; 
you  understand.  I  wish  you  to  stay  here,  if  you  grant 
that  everything  shall  flow  smoothly  between  yourself  tand 
her." 

The  breast  and  shoulders  of  the  steward  rose,  as  if  an  ex- 
pression of  defiance  was  about  to  be  poured  forth  ;  before  it 
took  form,  he  controlled  himself  and  said,  in  his  natural 
voice, — 

"  My  part  of  the  performance  shall  be  carried  out, 
madam." 

"  And  her  anxiety  to  obtain  a  standing  in  the  world  en- 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES.  i6i 

sures  that  hers  will,"  replied  Miss  Aldclyffe.  "  That  will  be 
satisfactory,  then." 

After  a  few  additional  remarks,  she  gently  signified  that 
she  wished  to  put  an  end  to  the  interview.  The  steward 
took  the  hint  and  retired. 

He  felt  vexed  and  mortified ;  yet  in  walking  homeward, 
he  was  convinced  that  telHng  the  whole  truth  as  he  had 
done,  with  the  single  exception  of  his  love  for  Cytherea 
(which  he  tried  to  hide  even  from  himself),  had  never  served 
him  in  better  stead  than  it  had  that  night. 

Manston  went  to  his  desk  and  thought  of  Cytherea's 
beauty  with  the  bitterest,  wildest  regret.  After  the  lapse  of 
a  few  minutes  he  calmed  himself  by  a  stoical  effort,  and 
wrote  the  subjoined  letter  to  his  wife. 


"Knapwater,  Nov.  2Uf,  1864. 

"Dear  Eunice, 

"  I    hope   you   reached    London   safely   after   your 
flighty  visit  to  me. 

"  As  1  promised,  I  have  thought  over  our  conversation 
that  night,  and  your  wish  that  your  coming  here  should  be 
no  longer  delayed.  After  all,  it  was  perfectly  natural  that 
you  should  have  spoken  unkindly  as  you  did,  ignorant  as 
you  were  of  the  circumstances  which  bound  me. 

"  So  I  have  made  arrangements  to  fetch  you  home  at 
once.  It  is  hardly  worth  while  for  you  to  attempt  to  bring 
with  you  any  luggage  you  may  have  gathered  about  you  (be- 
yond mere  clothing).  Dispose  of  superfluous  things  at  a 
broker's  ;  your  bringing  them  would  only  make  a  talk  in  this 
])arish,  and  lead  people  to  believe  we  had  long  been  keeping 
house  separately. 

"Will  next  Monday  suit  you  for  coming?  You  have 
nothing  to  do  that  can  occupy  you  for  more  than  a  day  or 
two,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  and  the  remainder  of  this  week  will 
afford  ample  time.  I  can  be  in  London  the  night  before, 
and  we  will  come  dov/n  together  by  the  mid-day  train. 
"  Tour  very  affectionate  husband, 

"T^iNEAs  Manston. 

"  Now,  of  course,  I  shall  no  longer  write  to  you  as  Mrs, 
Rondley." 


1 62  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  address  on  the  envelope  was,— 

"MRS.  MANSTON, 

"41,  Charles  Square, 

"  HOXTON, 

"London,  N," 

He  took  the  letter  to  the  house,  and  it  being  too  late  foi 
the  country  post,  sent  one  of  the  stable-men  with  it  to 
Kroominster,  instead  of  troubhng  to  go  to  Creston  with  it 
himself  as  heretofore.  He  had  no  longer  any  necessity  to 
keep  his  condition  a  secret. 

§  7.  From  the  twenty-second  to  the  twenty-seventh  of 
November. 

But  the  next  morning  Manston  found  he  had  been  forget- 
ful of  another  matter,  in  naming  the  following  Monday  to 
his  wife  for  the  journey. 

The  fact  was  this.  A  letter  had  just  come,  reminding  him 
that  he  had  left  the  whole  of  the  succeeding  week  open 
for  an  important  business  engagement  with  a  neighboring 
land-agent,  at  that  gentleman's  residence  thirteen  miles 
off. 

The  particular  day  he  had  suggested  to  his  wife,  had,  in 
the  interim,  been  appropriated  by  his  correspondent.  The 
meeting  could  not  now  be  put  off. 

So  he  wrote  again  to  his  wife,  stating  that  business,  which 
could  not  be  postponed,  called  him  away  from  home  on 
Monday,  and  would  entirely  prevent  him  coming  all  the  way 
to  fetch  her  on  Sunday  night  as  he  had  intended,  but  that  he 
would  meet  her  at  the  Carriford  Road  Station  with  a 
conveyance  when  she  arrived  there  in  the  evening. 

The  next  day  came  his  wife's  answer  to  his  first  letter,  in 
which  she  said  that  she  would  be  ready  to  be  fetched  at  the 
time  named. 

Having  already  written  his  second  letter,  which  was  by 
that  time  in  her  hands,  he  made  no  further  reply. 

The  week  passed  away.  The  steward  had,  in  the  mean 
time,  let  it  become  generally  known  in  the  village  that  he 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  1 63 

was  a  married  man,  and  by  a  little  judicious  management, 
sound  family  reasons  for  his  past  secrecy  upon  the  subject, 
which  were  floated  as  adjuncts  to  the  story,  were  placidly 
received;  they  seemed  so  natural  and  justifiable  to  the  un- 
sophisticated minds  of  nine-tenths  of  his  neighbors,  that 
curiosity  in  the  matter,  beyond  a  strong  curiosity  to  see  the 
lady's  face,  was  well  nigh  extinguished. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  EVENTS  OF  A  DAY  AND  NIGHT. 

§   I.   November  the  twenty-eighth.      Until  ten  p.  m. 

MONDAY  came,  the  day  named  for  Mrs.  Mansion's 
journey  from  London  to  her  husband's  house  ;  a 
Jay  of  singular  and  great  events,  intluencing  the  present  and 
future  of  nearly  all  the  personages  whose  actions  in  a  com- 
plex drama  form  the  subject  of  this  record.    . 

The  proceedings  of  the  steward  demand  the  first  notice. 
Whilst  taking  his  breakfast  on  this  particular  morning,  the 
clock  pointing  to  eight,  the  horse  and  gig  that  was  to  take 
him  to  Chettlewood  waiting  ready  at  the  door,  Manston 
hurriedly  cast  his  eyes  down  the  column  oi  Bradshaw  which 
showed  the  details  and  duration  of  the  selected  train's 
journey. 

The  inspection  was  carelessly  made,  the  leaf  being  kept 
open  by  the  aid  of  one  hand,  whilst  the  other  still  held  his 
cup  of  coffee  ;  much  more  carelessly  than  would  have  been 
the  case  had  the  expected  new-comer  been  Cytherea  Graye, 
instead  of  his  lawful  wife. 

He  did  not  perceive,  branching  from  the  column  down  which 
his  finger  ran,  a  small  twist,  called  a  shunting-line,  inserted  at 
a  particular  place,  to  imply  that  at  that  point  the  train  was 
divided  into  two.  By  this  oversight  he  understood  that  the 
arrival  of  his  wife  at  Carriford  Road  Station  would  not  be 
till  late  in  the  evening  :  by  the  second  half  of  the  train,  con- 
taining the  third-class  passengers,  and  passing  two  hours  and 
three-quarters  later  than  the  previous  one,  by  which  the  lady, 
as  a  second-class  passenger,  would  really  be  brought. 

He  then  considered  that  there  would  be  plenty  of  time  for 
him  to  return  from  his  day's  engagement  to  meet  this  train. 
He  finished  his  breakfast,  gave  proper  and  precise  directions 
to  his  servant  on  the  preparations  that  were  to  be  made  for 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  165 

the  lady's  reception,  jumped  into  his  gig,  and  drove  ofif  to 
Lord  Claydonfield's  at  Chettlewood. 

He  went  along  by  the  front  of  Knapwater  House.  He 
could  not  help  turning  to  look  at  what  he  knew  to  be  the 
window  of  Cytherea's  room.  Whilst  he  looked,  a  hopeless 
expression  of  passionate  love  and  sensuous  anguish  came 
upor.  his  face  and  lingered  there  for  a  few  seconds  ;  then,  as 
on  previous  occasions,  it  was  resolutely  repressed,  and 
he  trotted  along  the  smooth  white  road,  again  endeavoring 
to  banish  all  thought  of  the  young  girl  whose  beauty  and 
grace  had  so  enslaved  him. 

Thus  it  was  that  when,  in  the  evening  of  the  same  day, 
Mrs.  Manston  reached  Carriford  Road  Station,  her  husband 
was  still  at  Chettlewood  ignorant  of  her  arrival,  and  on  look- 
ing up  and  down  the  platform,  dreary  with  autumn  gloom 
and  wind,  she  could  see  no  sign  that  any  preparation 
whatever  had  been  made  for  her  reception  and  conduct 
home. 

The  train  went  on.  She  waited,  fidgeted  with  the  handle 
of  her  umbrella,  walked  about,  strained  her  eyes  into  the 
gloom  of  the  chilly  night,  listened  for  wheels,  tapped  with  her 
foot,  and  showed  all  the  usual  signs  of  annoyance  and  irrita- 
tion :  she  was  the  more  irritated  in  that  this  seemed  a 
second  and  culminating  instance  of  her  husband's  neglect — • 
the  first  having  been  shown  in  his  not  fetching  her. 

Reflecting  awhile  upon  the  course  it  would  be  best  to  take, 
in  order  to  secure  a  passage  to  Knapwater,  she  decided  to 
leave  all  her  luggage,  except  a  carpet-bag,  in  the  cloak-room, 
and  walk  to  her  husband's  house,  as  she  had  done  on  her 
first  visit.  She  asked  one  of  the  porters  if  he  could  find  a  lad 
to  go  with  her  and  carry  her  bag  :  he  offered  to  do  it  himself 

The  porter  was  a  good-tempered,  shallow-minded,  ignorant 
nian.  Mrs.  Manston,  being  apparently  in  very  gloomy 
spirits,  would  probably  have  preferred  walking  beside  him 
without  saying  a  word  :  but  her  companion  would  not  allow 
silence  to  continue  between  them  for  a  longer  period  than 
two  or  three  minutes  together. 

He  had  volunteered  several  remarks  upon  her  arrival, 
chiefly  to  the  effect  that  it  was  very  unfortunate  Mr.  Manston 
had  not  come  to  the  station  for  her,  when  she  suddenlj 
acked  him  concerning  the  inhabitants  of  the  parish. 


1 66  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

He  iold  her  categorically  the  names  of  the  chief — first  the 
chief  possessors  of  property;  then  of  brains;  then  of  good 
looks.  As  first  among  the  latter  he  mentioned  Miss  Cythe- 
rea  Graye. 

After  getting  him  to  describe  her  appearance  as  completely 
as  lay  in  his  power,  she  wormed  out  of  him  the  statement 
that  everybody  had  been  saying — before  Mrs.  Manston's  ex- 
istence was  heard  of — how  well  the  handsome  Mr.  Manstoi: 
and  the  beautiful  Miss  Graye  were  sui'ed  for  each  other  as 
man  and  wife,  and  that  Miss  Aldclytfe  was  the  only  one  in 
the  parish  who  took  no  interest  in  bringing  about  the 
match. 

"  He  rather  liked  her  you  think  .?  " 

The  porter  began  to  think  he  had  been  too  explicit,  and 
hastened  to  correct  the  error. 

"  O  no,  he  doesn't  care  a  bit  about  her,  madam,"  he  said, 
solemnly. 

"  Any  more  than  he  does  about  me  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit." 

*'Then  that  must  be  little  indeed,"  Mrs.  Manston  mur- 
mured. She  stood  still,  as  if  reflecting  upon  the  painful  neg- 
lect her  words  had  recalled  to  her  mind;  then  with  a  sudden 
impulse,  turned  round,  and  walked  petulantly  a  few  steps 
back  again  in  the  direction  of  the  station. 

The  porter  stood  still  and  looked  surprised. 

"  I'll  go  back  again,  yes,  indeed,  I'll  go  back  again  !  "  she 
said  plaintively.  Then  she  paused  and  looked  anxiously  up 
and  down  the  deserted  road. 

"  No,  I  mustn't  go  back  now,"  she  continued,  in  a  tone  of 
resignation.  Seeing  that  the  porter  was  watching  her,  she 
turned  about  and  came  on  as  before,  giving  vent  to  a  slight 
laugh. 

It  was  a  laugh  full  of  character  ;  the  low  forced  laugh 
which  seeks  to  hide  the  painful  perception  of  a  humiliating 
position  under  the  mask  of  indifference. 

Altogether  her  conduct  had  shown  her  to  be  what  in  fact 
she  was,  a  weak,  though  a  calculating  wpmaiij  one  clever  to 
conceive,  weak  to  execute  :  one  whose  best-laid  schemes 
were  forever  liable  to  be  frustrated  by  the  ineradicable  blight 
of  vacillation  at  the  critical  hour  of  action. 

"  O  if  I  had  only  known  that  all  this  was  going  to  happen  1 " 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  1 67 

she  murmured  again,  as  they  paced  along  upon  the  rustling 
leaves. 

"  What  did  you  say,  madam?  "  said  the  porter. 

"  O  nothing  ]mrticular ;  we  are  getting  near  the  old  manor- 
house  by  this  time,  I  imagine?" 

"  Very  near  now,  madam." 

They  soon  reached  Manston's  residence,  round  which  the 
wind  blew  mournfully  and  chill. 

Passing  under  the  detached  gateway,  '.hey  entered  the 
porch.  The  porter  stepped  forward,  knocked  heavily,  and 
waited. 

Nobody  came. 

Mrs.  Mansion  then  advanced  to  the  door  and  gave  a  dif- 
ferent series  of  rappings — less  forcible,  but  more  sustained. 

There  was  not  a  movement  of  any  kind  inside,  not  a  ray 
of  light  visible  ;  nothing  but  the  echo  of  her  own  knocks 
through  the  passages,  and  the  dry  scratching  of  the  withered 
leaves  blown  about  her  feet  upon  the  floor  of  the  porch. 

The  steward,  of  course,  was  not  at  home.  Mrs,  Crickett, 
not  expecting  that  anybody  would  arrive  till  the  time  of  the 
later  train,  had  set  the  place  in  order,  laid  the  supper-table, 
and  then  locked  the  door,  to  go  into  the  village  and  converse 
with  her  friends. 

"  Is  there  an  inn  in  the  village  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Manston,  after 
the  fourth  and  loudest  rapping  upon  the  iron-studded  old 
door  had  resulted  only  in  the  fourth  and  loudest  echo  from 
the  passages  inside. 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"Who  keeps  it?" 

"  Farmer  Springrove." 

"  I  will  go  there  to-night,"  she  said,  decisively.  "  It  is  too 
rold,  and  altogether  too  bad,  for  a  woman  to  wait  in  the 
open  road  on  anybody's  account,  gentle  or  simple." 

They  went  down  the  park  and  through  the  gate,  into  the 
village  of  Carriford.  By  the  time  they  reached  the  Three 
Tranters,  it  was  verging  upon  ten  o'clock.  There,  on  the 
spot  where  two  months  earlier  in  the  season  the  sunny  and 
lively  group  of  villagers  making  cider  under  the  trees  had 
greeted  Cytherea's  eyes,  was  nothing  now  intelligible  but  a 
vast  cloak  of  darkness,  from  which  came  the  low  sough  of  the 
elms,  and  the  occasional  creak  of  the  swinging  sign. 


l68  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

They  went  to  the  door,  Mrs.  Manston  shivering  ;  but  less 
from  the  cold,  than  from  the  dreariness  of  her  emotions. 
Neglect  is  the  coldest  of  winter  winds. 

It  so  happened  that  Edward  Springrove  was  expected  to 
arrive  from  London  either  on  that  evening  or  the  next,  and 
at  the  sound  of  voices,  his  father  came  to  the  door  fully  ex- 
pecting to  see  him.  A  ])icture  of  disappointment  seldom 
witnessed  in  a  man's  face  was  visible  in  old  Mr.  Springrove' s, 
when  he  saw  that  the  comer  was  a  stranger. 

xMrs.  Manston  asked  for  a  room,  and  one  that  had  been 
])repared  for  Edward  was  immediately  named  as  being  ready 
for  her,  another  being  adaptable  for  Edward,  should  he 
come  in. 

Without  partaking  of  any  refreshment,  or  entering  any 
room  downstairs,  or  even  lifting  her  veil,  she  walked  straight 
along  the  passage  and  up  to  her  apartment,  the  chamber- 
maid preceding  her. 

"  If  Mr.  Manston  comes  to-nigtit,"  she  said,  sitting  on 
the  bed  as  she  had  come  in,  and  addressing  the  woman, 
"  tell  him  I  cannot  see  him." 

"  Yes,  madam." 

The  woman  left  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Manston  locked  the 
door.  Before  the  servant  had  gone  down  more  than  two  or 
three  stairs,  Mrs.  Manston  unfastened  the  door  again,  and 
held  it  ajar. 

"  Bring  me  some  brandy,"  she  said. 

The  chambermaid  went  down  to  the  bar  and  brought  up 
the  spirit  in  a  tumbler.  When  she  came  into  the  room, 
Mrs.  Manston  had  not  removed  a  single  article  of  apparel, 
and  was  walking  up  and  down,  as  if  still  quite  undecided 
upon  the  course  it  was  best  to  adopt. 

Outside  the  door,  when  it  was  closed  upon  her,  the  maid 
paused  to  listen  for  an  instant.  She  heard  Mrs.  Manston 
talking  to  herself. 

"This  is  welcome  home  !"  she  said. 


§  2.  From  ten  to  half -past  eleven  p.  m. 

A  strange  concurrence  of  ])henomena  now  confronts  us. 
During  the  autumn  in  which  the  past  scenes  were  en- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  169 

acted,  Mr.  Springrove  had  ploughed,  harrowed,  and  cleaned 
a  narrow  and  shaded  piece  of  ground,  lying  at  the  back  of 
his  house,  which  for  many  years  had  been  looked  upon  as 
irreclainiable  waste. 

The  couch-grass  extracted  from  the  soil  had  been  left  to 
wither  in  the  sun  ;  afterwards  it  was  raked  together,  lighted 
in  the  customary  way,  and  now  lay  smouldering  in  a  large 
heap  in  the  middle  of  the  plot. 

It  had  been  kindled  three  days  previous  to  Mrs.  Man- 
sion's arrival,  and  one  or  two  villagers,  of  a  more  cautious 
and  less  sanguine  temperament  than  Springrove,  had  sug- 
gested that  the  fire  was  almost  too  near  the  back  of  the 
house  for  its  continuance  to  be  unattended  with  risk  ;  for 
though  no  danger  could  be  apprehended  whilst  the  air  re- 
mained moderately  still,  a  brisk  breeze  blowing  towards  the 
house  might  possibly  carry  a  spark  across. 

"  Ay,  that's  true  enough,"  said  Springrove.  "  I  must 
look  round  before  going  to  bed  and  see  that  everything's 
safe ;  but  to  tell  the  truth  I  am  anxious  to  get  the  rubbish 
burnt  up  before  the  rain  comes  to  wash  it  into  ground  again. 
As  to  carrying  the  couch  into  the  back  field  to  burn,  and 
bringing  it  back  again,  why  'tis  more  than  the  ashes  would 
be  worth." 

"  Well,  that's  very  true,"  said  the  neighbours,  and  passed 
on. 

Two  or  three  times  during  the  first  evening  after  the  heap 
was  lit,  he  went  to  the  back  door  to  take  a  survey.  Before 
bolting  and  barring  up  for  the  night,  he  made  a  final  and 
more  careful  examination.  The  slowly-smoking  pile  showed 
not  the  slightest  signs  of  activity. 

Springrove' s  perfectly  sound  conclusion  was,  that  as  long 
as  the  heap  was  not  stirred,  and  the  wind  continued  in  the 
quarter  it  blew  from  then,  the  couch  would  not  flame,  and 
that  there  could  be  no  shadow  of  danger  to  anything,  even 
a  combustible  substance,  and  if  it  were  no  more  than  a 
yard  off. 

The  next  morning  the  burning  couch  was  discovered  in 
precisely  the  same  state  as  when  he  had  gone  to  bed  the 
preceding  night.  The  heap  smoked  in  the  same  inannei 
the  whole  of  that  day ;  at  bed-time  the  farmer  looked  to 
wards  it,  but  less  carefully  than  on  the  first  night. 
8 


170 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 


The  morning  and  the  whole  of  the  third  day  still  saw  the 
heap  in  its  old  smouldering  condition ;  indeed,  the  smoke 
was  less,  and  there  seemed  a  probability  that  it  might  have 
to  be  re-kindled  on  the  morrow. 

After  admitting  Mrs.  Manston  to  his  house  in  the  even- 
ing, and  hearing  her  retire,  Mr.  Springrove  returned  to  the 
front  door  to  listen  for  a  sound  of  his  son,  and  inquired  con- 
cerning him  of  the  railway-porter,  who  sat  for  a  while  in  the 
kitchen. 

The  porter  had  not  noticed  young  Mr.  Springrove  get 
out  of  the  train,  at  which  intelligence  the  old  man  concluded 
that  he  would  probably  not  see  his  son  till  the  next  day,  as 
Edward  had  hitherto  made  a  point  of  coming  by  the  train 
which  brought  Mrs.  Manston. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  porter  left  the  inn,  Springrove  at  the 
same  time  going  to  the  door  to  listen  again  for  an  instant, 
then  he  walked  round  and  in  at  the  back  of  the  house. 

The  farmer  glanced  at  the  heap  casually  and  indifferently 
in  passing  ;  two  nights  of  safety  seemed  to  ensure  the  third  ; 
and  he  was  about  to  bolt  and  bar  as  usual,  when  the  idea 
struck  him  that  there  was  just  a  possibility  of  his  son's  re- 
turn by  the  latest  train,  unlikely  as  it  was  that  he  would  be 
so  delayed. 

The  old  man  thereupon  left  the  door  unfastened,  looked 
to  his  usual  matters  indoors,  and  then  went  to  bed.  This 
was  at  half-past  ten  o'clock. 

Farmers  and  horticulturists  well  know  that  it  is  the  nature 
of  a  heap  of  couch-grass,  when  kindled  in  calm  weather,  to 
smoulder  for  many  da)'s,  and  even  weeks,  until  the  whole 
mass  is  reduced  to  a  powdery  charcoal  ash,  displaying  the 
while  scarcely  a  sign  of  combustion  beyond  the  volcano-like 
smoke  from  its  summit  ;  but  the  continuance  of  this  (juiet 
process  is  throughout  its  length  at  the  mercy  of  one  particu- 
lar freak  oi  Nature  :  that  is,  a  sudden  breeze,  by  which  the 
heap  is  liable  to  be  fanned  into  a  flame  so  brisk  as  to  con- 
sume the  whole  in  an  hour  or  two. 

Had  the  farmer  narrowly  watched  the  pile  when  he  went 
to  close  the  door,  he  would  have  seen,  besides  the  familiar 
twine  of  smoke  from  its  summit,  a  quivering  of  the  air 
around  the  mass,  showing  that  a  considerable  heat  had 
arisen  inside. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  I7I 

As  the  railway-porter  turned  the  corner  of  the  row  of 
houses  adjoining  the  Three  Tranters,  a  brisk  new  wind 
greeted  his  face,  and  spread  past  him  into  the  village.  He 
walked  along  the  high-road  till  he  came  to  a  gate,  about 
three  hundred  yards  from  the  inn.  Over  the  gate  could 
be  discerned  the  situation  of  the  building  he  had  just 
quitted. 

He  carelessly  turned  his  head  in  passing,  and  saw  behind 
him  a  clear  red  glow  indicating  the  position  of  the  couch- 
heap  :  a  glow  without  a  flame,  increasing  and  diminishing  in 
brightness  as  the  breeze  quickened  or  fell,  like  the  coal  of  a 
newly  lighted  cigar.  If  those  cottages  had  been  his,  he 
thought,  he  should  not  care  to  have  a  fire  so  near  to  them  as 
that — and  the  wind  rising.  But  the  cottages  not  being  his, 
he  went  on  his  way  to  the  station,  where  he  was  about  to  re- 
sume duty  for  the  night. 

The  road  was  now  quite  deserted  ;  till  four  o'clock  the 
next  morning,  when  the  carters  would  go  by  to  the  stables, 
there  was  little  probability  of  any  human  being  passing  the 
Three  Tranters  Inn. 

By  eleven,  everybody  in  the  house  was  asleep.  It  truly 
seemed  as  if  the  treacherous  element  knew  there  had  arisen 
a  grand  opportunity  for  devastation. 

At  a  quarter-past  eleven  a  slight  stealthy  crackle  made  itself 
heard  amid  the  increasing  moans  of  the  night  wind  ;  the 
heap  glowed  brighter  still,  and  burst  into  a  flame  ;  the  flame 
sank,  another  breeze  entered  it,  sustained  it,  and  it  grew  to 
be  first  continuous  and  weak,  then  continuous  and  strong. 

At  twenty  minutes  past  eleven  a  blast  of  wind  carried  an 
airy  bit  of  ignited  fern  several  yards  forward,  in  a  direction 
parallel  to  the  houses  and  inn,  and  there  deposited  it  on  the 
ground. 

Five  minutes  later  another  puff  of  wind  carried  a  similar 
piece  to  a  distance  of  five-and-twenty  yards,  where  it  also 
was  dropped  softly  on  the  ground. 

Still  the  wind  did  not  blow  in  the  direction  of  the  houses, 
and  even  now  to  a  casual  observer  they  would  have  appeared 
safe. 

But  Nature  does  few  things  directly.  A  minute  later  still, 
an  ignited  fragment  fell  upon  the  straw  covering  of  a  long 
thatched  heap  or  "grave"  of  mangel-wurzel,  lying  in  a  di- 


^ 


172  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

rection.at  right  angles  to  the  house,  and  down  toward  the 
hedge.     There  the  fragment  faded  to  darkness. 

A  short  time  subsequent  to  this,  after  many  intermediate 
deposits  and  seemingly  bafifled  attempts,  another  fragment 
fell  on  the  mangel-wurzel  grave,  and  continued  to  glow  ;  the 
glow  was  increased  by  the  wind  ;  the  straw  caught  fire  and 
burst  into  flame.  It  was  inevitable  that  the  flame  should 
run  along  the  ridge  of  the  thatch  towards  a  piggery  at  the 
end.  Yet  had  the  piggery  been  tiled,  the  time-honored  hos- 
tel would  even  now  at  this  last  moment  have  been  safe  ;  but 
it  was  constructed  as  piggeries  are  mosdy  constructed,  of 
wood  and  thatch.  The  hurdles  and  straw  roof  of  the  frail 
erection  became  ignited  in  their  turn,  and  abutting  as  the 
shed  did  on  the  back  of  the  inn,  flamed  up  to  the  eaves  of  the 
main  roof  in  less  than  thirty  seconds. 


§  3.  Half  past  eleven  to  twelve  p.  m. 

A  hazardous  length  of  time  elapsed  before  the  inmates  of 
the  Three  Tranters  knew  of  their  danger.  When  at  length 
the  discovery  was  made,  the  rush  was  a  rush  for  bare  life. 

A  man's  voice  calling,  then  screams,  then  loud  staniping 
and  shouts  were  heard, 

Mr.  Springrove  ran  out  first.  Two  minutes  later  appeared 
the  liostler  and  chambermaid,  who  were  man  and  wife.  The 
inn,  as  has  been  stated,  was  a  quaint  old  building,  and  as 
inflammable  as  a  bee-hive  ;  it  overhung  the  base  at  the  level 
of  the  first  floor,  and  again  oveihung  at  the  eaves,  which 
were  finished  with  heavy  oak  barge-boards  ;  every  atom  in 
its  substance,  every  feature  in  its  construction,  favored  the 
fire. 

The  forked  flames,  lurid  and  smoky,  became  nearly  lost  to 
view,  bursting  forth  again  with  a  bound  and  loud  crackle,  in- 
creased tenfold  in  power  and  brightness.  The  crackling 
grew  sharper.  Long  quivering  shadows  began  to  be  flung 
from  the  stately  trees  at  the  end  of  the  house  ;  the  square 
outline  of  the  church  tower,  on  the  other  side  of  the  way, 
which  had  hitherto  been  a  dark  mass  against  a  sky  comj^ara- 
tively  hght,  now  began  to  ai)pear  as  a  light  object  against  a 
sky  of  darkness  ;  and  even  the  narrow  surface  of  the  flag- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


173 


Staff  at  the  top  could  be  seen  in  its  dark  surrounding,  brought 
out  from  its  obscurity  ty  the  rays  from  the  dancing  hght. 

Shouts  and  other  noises  increased  in  loudness  and  fre 
quency.  The  lapse  of  ten  minutes  brought  most  of  the  in 
habitants  of  that  end  of  the  village  into  the  street,  followed 
in  a  short  time  by  the  rector. 

Casting  a  hasty  glance  up  and  down,  he  beckoned  to  one 
or  two  of  the  men,  and  vanished  again.  In  a  short  time 
wheels  were  heard,  and  Mr.  Raunham  and  the  men  reap 
peared  with  the  garden  engine,  the  only  one  in  the  village,  ex- 
cept that  at  Knapwater  House.  After  some  little  trouble  the 
hose  was  connected  with  a  tank  in  the  old  stable-yard,  and 
the  puny  instrument  began  to  play. 

Several  seemed  paralyzed  at  first,  and  stood  transfixed, 
their  rigid  faces  looking  like  red-hot  iron  in  the  glaring  Hght. 
In  the  confusion  a  woman  cried,  "Ring  the  bells  back- 
wards ! "  and  three  or  four  of  the  old  and  superstitious  en- 
tered the  belfry  and  jangled  them  indescribably.  Some  were 
only  half-dressed,  and,  to  add  to  the  horror,  among  them  was 
Clerk  Crickett,  running  up  and  down  with  a  face  streaming 
with  blood,  ghastly  and  pitiful  to  see,  his  excitement  being 
so  great  that  he  had  not  the  slightest  conception  of  how, 
when,  or  where,  he  came  by  the  wound. 

The  crowd  was  now  busy  at  work,  and  tried  to  save  a  lit- 
tle of  the  furniture  of  the  inn.  The  only  room  they  could 
enter  was  the  parlor,  horn  which  they  managed  to  bring  out 
the  bureau,  a  few  chairs,  some  old  silver  candlesticks,  and 
Imlf  a  dozen  light  articles  ;  but  these  were  all. 

Fiery  mats  of  thatch  slid  off  the  roof  and  fell  into  the 
road  with  a  deadened  thud,  whilst  white  flakes  of  straw  and 
wood-ash  were  flying  in  the  wind  like  feathers.  At  the  same 
time  two  of  the  cottages  adjoining,  upon  which  a  little  water 
had  been  brought  to  play  from  the  rector's  engine,  were  seen 
to  be  on  fire.  The  attenuated  spirt  of  water  was  as  nothing 
upon  the  heated  and  dry  surface  of  the  thatched  roof;  the 
fire  prevailed  without  a  minute's  hindrance,  and  dived 
through  to  the  rafters. 

Suddenly  arose  a  cry,  "  Where's  Mr.  Springrove  ?  " 

He  had  vanished  from  the  spot  by  the  churchyard  wall,  on 
which  he  had  been  standing  a  few  minutes  earlier. 

"I  fancy  he's  gone  inside,"  said  a  voice. 


£74  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  Madness  and  folly,  what  can  he  save  !  "  said  another  ; 
"  Good  God,  find  him  !     Help  here  !  " 

A  wild  rush  was  made  at  the  door,  which  had  fallen  to, 
and  in  defiance  of  the  scorching  flame  that  burst  forth, 
three  men  forced  themselves  through  it.  Immediately  inside 
the  threshold  they  found  the  object  of  their  search,  lying 
senseless  on  the  floor  of  the  passage. 

To  bring  him  out  and  lay  him  on  a  bank  was  the  work  of 
an  instant ;  a  basin  of  cold  water  was  dashed  in  his  face,  and 
he  began  to  recover  consciousness,  but  very  slowly.  He 
had  been  saved  by  a  miracle.  No  sooner  were  his  pre- 
servers out  of  the  building  than  the  window-frames  lit  up  as  if 
by  magic  with  deep  and  waving  fringes  of  flames.  Simultane- 
ously, the  joints  of  the  boards  forming  the  front  door  started 
into  view  as  glowing  bars  of  fire ;  a  star  of  red  light  pene- 
trated the  centre,  gradually  increasing  in  size  till  the  flames 
rushed  forth. 

Then  the  staircase  fell. 

*'  Everybody  is  out  safe,"  said  a  voice. 

"  Yes,  thank  God  ?  "  said  three  or  four  others. 

"  Oh,  we  forgot  that  a  stranger  came  !     I  think  she  is  safe." 

"  I  hope  she  is,"  said  the  weak  voice  of  some  one  coming 
up  from  behind.     It  was  the  chambermaid's. 

Springrove  at  that  moment  aroused  himself;  he  staggered 
to  his  feet  and  threw  his  hand  up  wildly. 

"  Everybody,  no  !  no  !  The  lady  who  came  by  train, 
Mrs.  Mansion  !     I  tried  to  fetch  her  out,  but  I  fell." 

An  exclamation  of  horror  burst  from  the  crowd  ;  it  was 
caused  partly  by  this  disclosure  of  Springrove,  more  by  the 
added  perception  which  followed  his  words. 

An  average  interval  of  about  three  minutes  had  elapsed 
between  one  intensely  fierce  gust  of  wind  and  the  next,  and 
now  another  poured  over  them  ;  the  roof  swayed,  and  a  mo- 
ment afterwards  fell  in  with  a  crash,  pulling  the  gable  after 
it,  and  thrusting  outwards  the  front  wall  of  wood-work, 
which  fell  into  the  road  with  a  rumbling  echo ;  a  cloud  of 
black  dust,  myriads  of  sparks,  and  a  great  outburst  of  flame 
followed  the  uproar  of  the  fall. 

"  Who  is  she, — what  is  she  !  "  burst  from  every  lip  again 
and  again,  incoherently,  and  without  leaving  a  rmfiicient  pause 
for  a  reply,  had  a  reply  been  volunteered. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


175 


The  autumn  wind,  tameless,  and  swift,  and  proud,  still 
blew  upon  the  dying  old  house,  which  was  constructed  so 
entirely  of  combustible  materials  that  it  burnt  almost  as 
fiercely  as  a  corn-rick.  The  heat  in  the  road  increased,  and 
now  for  an  instant  at  the  height  of  the  conflagration  all 
stood  still,  and  gazed  silently,  awe-struck  and  helpless,  in 
the  presence  of  so  irresistible  an  enemy.  Then,  with 
minds  full  of  the  tragedy  unfolded  to  them,  they  rushed 
forward  again  with  the  obtuse  directness  of  waves,  to  their 
labor  of  saving  goods  from  the  houses  adjoining,  which 
it  was  evident  were  all  doomed  to  destruction. 

The  minutes  passed  by.  The  Three  Tranters  Inn  sank 
into  a  mere  heap  of  red-hot  charcoal :  the  fire  pushed  its  way 
down  the  row  as  the  church  clock  opposite  slowly  struck  the 
hotir  of  midnight,  and  the  bewildered  chimes,  scarcely  heard 
amid  the  crackling  of  the  flames,  wandered  through  the  way- 
ward air  of  the  Old  Hundred-and-Thirteenth  Psalm. 


§  4.  Nine  to  eleven  p.  m. 

Manston  mounted  his  gig  and  set  out  from  Chrttlewood 
that  evening  in  no  very  enviable  frame  of  mind.  The 
thought  of  domestic  life  in  Knapwater  Old  House,  with  the 
now  eclipsed  wife  of  the  past,  was  more  than  disagreeable, 
was  positively  distasteful  to  him. 

Yet  he  knew  that  the  influential  position  which,  from 
whatever  fortunate  cause,  he  held  on  Miss  Aldclyffe's  manor, 
would  never  again  fall  to  his  lot  on  any  other  ;  and  he  tacitly 
assented  to  this  dilemma,  hoping  that  some  consolation  or 
other  would  soon  suggest  itself  to  him ;  married  as  he  was, 
he  was  near  Cytherea. 

He  occasionally  looked  at  his  watch  as  he  drove  along  the 
lanes,  timing  the  pace  of  his  horse  by  the  hour,  that  he 
might  reach  Carri ford-Road  station  just  soon  enough  to 
meet  the  last  London  train. 

He  soon  began  to  notice  in  the  sky  a  slight  yellow  halo, 
near  the  horizon.  It  rapidly  increased ;  it  changed  color, 
and  grew  redtler ;  then  the  glare  visibly  brightened  and 
dimmed  at  intervals,  showing  that  its  origin  was  affected  by 
the  strong  wind  prevailing. 


176  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Mansion  reined  in  his  horse  at  the  summit  of  a  hill,  and 
considered. 

"  It  is  a  rick-yard  on  fire,"  he  thought ;  "  no  house  could 
produce  such  a  raging  flame  so  suddenly." 

He  trotted  on  again,  attempting  to  particularize  the  local 
features  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  fire  ;  but  this  it  was  too 
dark  to  do,  and  the  excessive  winding  of  the  roads  misled 
him  as  to  its  direction,  not  being  an  inhabitant  of  the  dis- 
trict, or  a  countryman  used  to  forming  such  judgments; 
whilst  the  brilliancy  of  the  light  shortened  its  real  remote- 
ness to  an  apparent  distance  of  not  more  than  half:  it 
seemed  so  near  that  he  again  stopped  his  horse,  this  time 
to  listen  ;  but  he  could  hear  no  sound. 

Entering  now  a  narrow  valley,  the  sides  of  which  obscured 
the  sky  to  an  angle  of  perhaps  tliirty  or  forty  degrees  above 
the  mathematical  horizon,  he  was  obliged  to  suspend  his 
judgment  till  he  was  in  possession  of  further  knowledge, 
having  however  assumed  in  the  interim,  that  the  fire 
was  somewhere  between  Carriford  Road  Station  and  the 
village. 

The  self-same  glare  had  just  arrested  the  eyes  of 
another  man.  He  was  at  that  minute  gliding  along  several 
miles  to  the  east  of  the  steward's  position,  but  nearing  the 
same  point  as  that  to  which  Mansion  tended.  The  younger 
Edward  Springrove  was  returning  from  London  to  his  father's 
house  by  the  identical  train  which  the  steward  was  expect- 
ing to  bring  his  wife,  the  truth  being  that  Edward's  lateness 
was  owing  to  the  simplest  of  all  causes,  his  temporary  want 
of  money,  which  led  him  to  make  a  slow  journey  for  the  sake 
of  travelling  at  third-class  fare. 

Springrove  had  received  Cytherea's  bitter  and  admonitory 
letter,  and  he  was  clearly  awakened  to  a  perception  of  the 
false  position  in  which  he  had  placed  himself,  by  keeping  si- 
lence at  Creston  on  his  long  engagement.  An  increasing 
reluctance  to  put  an  end  to  those  few  days  of  ecstasy  with 
Cytherea  had  over-ruled  his  conscience,  and  tied  his  tongue 
till  spealdng  was  too  late. 

"Why  did  I  do  it,  how  could  I  dream  of  loving  her,"  he 
asked  himself  as  he  walked  by  day,  as  he  tossed  on  his  bed 
by  night ;  "  miserable  folly  ! " 

An  impressible  heart  had  for  years — perhaps  as  many  as 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


177 


six  or  seven  years — been  distracting  him,  by  unconsciousl) 
setting  itself  to  yearn  for  somebody  wanting,  he  scarcely 
knew  whom.  Echoes  of  himself,  though  rarely,  he  now  and 
then  found.  Sometimes  they  were  men,  sometimes  women, 
Iiis  cousin  Adelaide  being  one  of  these  ;  for  in  spite  of  a 
fashion  which  pervades  the  whole  community  at  the  present 
day — the  habit  of  exclaiming  that  woman  is  not  undeveloped 
man,  but  diverse,  the  fact  remains  that,  after  all,  women  are 
Mankind,  and  that  in  many  of  the  sentiments  of  life  the  dif- 
ference of  sex  is  but  a  difference  of  degree. 

But  the  indefinable  hel[)mate  to  the  remoter  sides  of  him- 
self still  continued  invisible.  He  grew  older,  and  concluded 
that  the  ideas,  or  rather  emotions,  which  possessed  him  on 
the  subject,  were  probably  too  unreal  ever  to  be  found  em- 
bodied in  the  tiesh  of  a  woman.  Thereupon,  he  developed 
a  plan  of  satisfying  his  dreams  by  wandering  away  to  the 
heroines  of  poetical  imagination,  and  took  no  further 
thought  on  the  earthly  realization  of  his  formless  desire,  in 
more  homely  matters  satisfying  himself  with  his  cousin. 

Cytherea  appeared  in  the  sky  :  his  heart  started  up  and 
spoke  : — 

"  'Tis  she,  and  here. 
Lo  !  I  unclothe  and  clear 
My  wishes'  cloudy  character." 

Some  women  kindle  emotion  so  rapidly  in  a  man's  heart, 
that  the  judgment  cannot  keep  pace  with  its  rise,  and  finds, 
on  comprehending  the  situation,  that  faithfulness  to  the  old 
love  is  already  treachery  to  the  new.  Such  women  are  not 
necessarily  the  greatest  of  their  sex,  but  there  are  very  few 
of  them.     Cytherea  was  one. 

On  receiving  the  letter  from  her  he  had  taken  to  thinking 
over  these  things,  and  had  not  answered  it  at  all.  But 
"hungry  generations"  soon  tread  down  the  muser  in  a  city. 
At  length  he  thought  of  the  strong  necessity  of  living.  After 
a  dreary  search,  the  negligence  of  which  was  ultimately 
overcome  by  mere  conscientiousness,  he  obtained  a  situa- 
tion as  assistant  to  an  architect  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Charing  Cross  :  the  duties  would  not  commence  till  after  the 
lapse  of  a  month. 

He  could  not  at  first  decide  whither  he  should  go  to  spend 


i;r8  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

tlie  intervening  time  ;  but  in  the  midst  of  his  reasonings  he 
found  himself  on  the  road  homeward,  impelled  by  a  secret 
and  unowned  hope  of  getting  a  last  glimpse  of  Cytherea 
there. 

§  5.  Midnight. 

It  was  a  quarter  to  twelve  when  Manston  drove  into  the 
station  yard.  The  train  was  punctual,  and  the  bell,  an- 
nouncing its  arrival,  rang  as  he  crossed  the  booking-office  to 
go  out  upon  the  platform. 

The  porter  who  had  accompanied  Mrs.  Manston  to  Carri- 
ford,  and  had  returned  to  the  station  on  his  night  duty, 
recognized  the  steward  as  he  entered,  and  immediately  came 
towards  him. 

"  Mrs.  Manston  came  by  the  nine  o'clock  train,  sir,"  he 
said. 

The  steward  gave  vent  to  an  expression  of  vexation. 

"  Her  luggage  is  here,  sir,"  the  porter  said. 

"  Put  it  up  behind  me  in  the  gig  if  it  is  not  too  much," 
said  Manston. 

"Directly  this  train  is  in  and  gone,  sir." 

The  man  vanished  and  crossed  the  line  to  meet  the  enter- 
ing train, 

"Where  is  that  fire?"  Manston  said  to  the  booking-clerk. 

Before  the  clerk  could  speak,  another  man  ran  in  and  an- 
swered the  question  without  having  heard  it. 

"  Half  Carriford  is  burnt  down,  or  will  be  !  "  he  exclaim- 
ed. "You  can't  see  the  flames  from  this  station  on  account 
of  the  trees,  but  step  on  the  bridge — 'tis  tremendous  !" 

He  also  crossed  the  line  to  assist  at  the  entry  of  the  train, 
which  came  in  the  next  minute. 

The  steward  stood  in  the  office.  One  passenger  alighted, 
gave  up  his  ticket,  and  crossed  the  room  in  front  of  Man- 
ston :  a  young  man  with  a  black  bag  and  umbrella  in  his 
hand.  He  passed  out  of  the  door,  down  the  steps,  and 
struck  out  into  the  darkness. 

"Who  was  that  young  man?"  said  Manston,  when  the 
porter  had  returned.  The  young  man,  by  a  kind  of  magnet- 
ism, had  drawn  the  steward's  thoughts  after  him. 

"  He's  an  architect's  clerk." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


179 


"  My  own  old  profession.  I  could  have  sworn  it  by  the 
cut  of  him,"  Manston  murmured.  "What's  his  name  ?"  he 
said  again. 

"  Springrove — Farmer  Springrove's  son,  Edward." 

"  Farmer  Springrove's  son,  Edward,"  the  steward  repeated 
to  himself,  and  considered  a  matter  to  which  the  words  had 
painfully  recalled  his  mind. 

The  matter  was  Miss  Aldclyffe's  mention  of  the  young 
man  as  Cytherea's  lover,  which,  indeed,  had  scarcely  ever 
been  absent  from  his  thoughts. 

"  But  for  the  existence  of  my  wife  that  man  might  have 
been  my  rival,"  he  pondered,  following  the  jiorter,  who  had 
now  come  back  to  him,  into  the  luggage-room.  And  whilst 
the  man  was  carrying  out  and  i)utting  in  one  box,  which  was 
sufficiently  portable  for  the  gig,  Manston  still  thought,  as  his 
eyes  watched  the  process, — 

"  But  for  my  wife,  Springrove  might  have  been  my 
rival." 

He  examined  the  lamps  of  his  gig,  carefully  laid  out  the 
reins,  mounted  the  seat  and  drove  along  the  turnpike-road 
towards  Knapwater  Park. 

The  exact  locality  of  the  fire  was  j)lain  to  him  as  he  neared 
home.  He  soon  could  hear  the  shout  of  men,  the  flapping 
of  the  flames,  the  crackhng  of  burning  wood,  and  could 
smell  the  smoke  from  the  conflagration. 

Of  a  sudden,  a  few  yards  a-head,  within  the  compass  of 
the  rays  from  the  right-hand  lamp,  burst  forward  the  figure 
of  a  man.  Having  been  walking  in  darkness  the  new- 
comer raised  his  hands  to  his  eyes,  on  approaching  nearer, 
to  screen  them  from  the  glare  of  the  reflector. 

Manston  saw  that  he  was  one  of  the  villagers  :  a  small 
farmer  originally,  who  had  drunk  himself  down  to  a  day- 
labourer  and  reputed  poacher. 

"  Hoy  !  "  cried  Manston,  aloud,  that  the  man  might  step 
aside  out  of  the  way. 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Manston  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"Yes." 

"  Somebody  ha'  come  to  Carriford  :  and  the  rest  of  it  may 
concern  you,  sir." 

"  Well,  well." 

"  Did  you  expect  Mrs.  Manston  to-night,  sir  ?  " 


I  So  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  Yes,  unfortunately  she's  come,  I  know,  and  asleep  long 
before  this  time,  I  suppose?" 

The  laborer  leant  his  elbow  upon  the  shaft  of  the  gig  and 
turned  his  face,  pale  and  sweating  from  his  late  work  at  the 
fire,  up  to  Manston's. 

"  Yes,  she  did  come,"  he  said "I  beg  pardon,  sir, 

but  I  should  be  glad  of — of — " 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Glad  of  a  trifle  for  bringen  ye  the  news." 

"  Not  a  farthing !  I  didn't  want  your  news,  I  knew  she 
was  come." 

"  Won't  you  give  me  a  shillen,  sir  ?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Then  will  you  lend  me  a  shillen,  sir  ?  I  be  tired  out 
and  don't  know  what  to  do.  Jf  I  don't  pay  you  back  some 
day  I'll  be  d d." 

"  The  devil  is  so  cheated  that  perdition  isn't  worth  a 
penny  as  a  security." 

''Oh!" 

"  I^et  me  go  on,"  said  Manston. 

"  Thy  wife  is  dead ;  that's  the  rest  o'  the  news,"  said  the 
laborer,  slowly.     He  waited  for  a  reply  :   none  came. 

"  She  went  to  the  Three  Tranters,  because  she  couldn't 
get  into  thy  house,  the  burnen  roof  fell  in  upon  her  before 
she  could  be  called  up,  and  she's  a  cinder,  as  thou'lt  be 
some  day." 

"  That  will  do,  let  me  drive  on,"  said  the  steward,  calmly. 

Expectation  of  a  concussion  may  be  so  intense  that  its 
failure  strikes  the  brain  with  more  force  than  its  fulfilment. 
The  laborer  sank  back  into  the  ditch.  Such  a  Cushi  could 
not  realize  the  possibility  of  such  an  uivmoved  king. 

Manston  drove  hastily  to  the  turning  of  the  road,  tied  his 
horse,  and  ran  on  foot  to  the  site  of  the  fire. 

The  stagnation  caused  by  the  awful  accident  had  been 
passed  through,  and  all  hands  were  helping  to  remove  from 
the  remaining  cottages  what  furniture  they  could  lay  hold 
of;  the  thatch  of  the  roofs  being  already  on  fire.  The 
Knapvvater  fire-engine  had  arrived  on  the  spot,  but  it  was 
small  and  ineffectual.  A  group  was  collected  round  the 
rector,  who  in  a  coat  which  had  become  bespattered, 
scorched,  and  torn  in  his  exertions,  was  directing  on  one 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES.  i8i 

hand  the  proceedings  relative  to  the  removal  of  goods  into 
the  church,  and  with  the  other  was  pointing  out  the  spot  on 
which  it  was  most  desirable  that  the  i)uny  engines  at  their 
disposal  should  be  made  to  play.  Every  tongue  was  in 
stantly  silent  at  the  sight  of  Manston's  pale  and  clear  coun- 
tenance, which  contrasted  strangely  with  the  grimy  and 
streaming  faces  of  the  toiling  villagers. 

"Was  she  burnt  ?"  he  said  in  a  firm  though  husky  voice, 
and  stepping  into  the  illuminated  area.  The  rector  came  to 
him,  and  took  him  aside.  "  Is  she  burnt  ? "  repeated 
xManston. 

"  She  is  dead  :  but  thank  God,  she  was  spared  the  horrid 
agony  of  burning,"  the  rector  said  solemnly;  "  the  roof  and 
gable  fell  in  upon  her  and  crushed  her.  Instant  death  must 
have  followed." 

"  Why  was  she  here  ?  "  said  Manston. 

"  From  what  we  can  hurriedly  collect,  it  seems  that  she 
found  the  door  of  your  house  locked,  and  concluded  that 
you  had  retired,  the  fact  being  that  your  servant  Mrs.  Cric- 
kett  had  gone  out  to  supper.  She  then  came  back  to  the 
inn  and  went  to  bed." 

"  Where's  the  landlord  ?  "  said  Manston. 

Mr.  Springrove  come  up,  walking  feebly,  and  wrapped  in 
a  cloak,  and  corroborated  the  evidence  given  by  the  rector 

"  Did  she  look  ill,  or  annoyed,  when  she  came  ?  "  said 
the  steward. 

"  I  can't  say  :  I  didn't  see  ;  but  1  think  .  .  ." 

"  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  She  was  much  put  out  about  something." 

"  M)'  not  meeting  her,  naturally,"  murmured  the  other, 
lost  in  reverie.  He  turned  his  back  on  Springrove  and  the 
lector,  and  retired  from  the  shining  light. 

Everything  had  been  done  that  could  be  done  with  the 
limited  means  at  their  disposal.  The  whole  row  of  houses 
was  destroyed,  and  each  presented  itself  as  one  stage  of  a 
series,  progressing  from  smoking  ruins  at  the  end  where  the 
inn  had  stood,  to  a  partly  flaming  mass — glowing  as  none 
but  wood  embers  will  glow — at  the  other. 

A  feature  in  the  decline  of  town  fires  was  noticeably  ab- 
sent here  ;  steam.  There  was  present  what  is  not  observa 
ble  in  towns  ;  incandescence. 


J 82  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  heat,  and  the  smarting  effect  upon  their  eyes  of  the 
strong  smoke  from  the  burning  oak  and  deal,  had  at  last 
driven  the  villagers  back  from  the  road  in  front  of  the  houses, 
and  they  now  stood  in  groups  in  the  churchyard,  the  surface 
of  which,  raised  by  the  interments  of  generations,  stood  four 
or  five  feet  above  the  level  of  the  road,  and  almost  even 
with  the  top  of  the  low  wall,  dividing  one  from  the  other. 

The  headstones  stood  forth  whitely  against  the  dark  grass 
and  yews,  their  brightness  being  repeated  on  the  white 
smock-frocks  of  some  of  the  laborers,  and  in  a  mellower, 
ruddier  form  on  their  faces  and  hands,  on  those  of  the  grin- 
ning gargoyles,  and  on  other  salient  stonework  of  the 
weather-beaten  church  in  the  background. 

The  rector  had  decided  that,  under  the  distressing  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  there  would  be  no  sacrilege  in  placing 
in  the  church,  for  the  night,  the  pieces  of  furniture  and  uten- 
sils which  had  been  saved  from  the  several  houses.  There 
was  no  other  place  of  safety  for  them,  and  they  accordingly 
were  gathered  there. 


§  6.  Half -past  twelve  to  one  a.  m. 

Mansion,  when  he  retired  to  meditate,  had  walked  round 
the  churchyard,  and  now  entered  the  opened  door  of  the 
building. 

He  mechanically  pursued  his  way  round  the  piers  into  his 
own  seat  in  the  north  aisle.  The  lower  atmosphere  of  this 
spot  was  shaded  by  its  own  wall  from  the  shine  which 
streamed  in  over  the  window  sills  on  the  same  side.  The 
only  light  burning  inside  the  church  was  a  small  tallow  can- 
dle, standing  in  the  front,  in  the  opposite  aisle  of  the  build- 
ing to  that  in  which  Manston  had  sat  down,  and  near  where 
the  furniture  was  piled.  The  candle's  miid  rays  were  over- 
powered by  the  ruddier  light  from  the  ruins,  making  the 
weak  flame  to  appear  like  the  moon  by  day. 

Sitting  there  he  saw  Farmer  Springrove  enter  the  door, 
followed  by  his  son  Edward,  still  carrying  his  travelling-bag 
in  his  hand.  They  were  speaking  of  the  sad  death  of  Mrs. 
Manston,  but  the  subject  was  relinquished  for  that  of  the 
nouses  burnt. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


183 


This  row  of  houses,  running  from  the  inn  eastward,  had 
been  built  under  the  following  circumstances. 

Fifty  years  before  this  dace,  the  spot  upon  which  the  cot- 
tages afterwards  stood  was  a  blank  strij),  along  the  side  of 
the  village  street,  difficult  to  cultivate,  on  account  of  the  out 
crop  thereon  of  a  large  bed  of  flints  called  locally  a  "  launch." 

The  Aldclyffe  then  in  possession  of  the  estate  conceived 
the  idea  that  a  row  of  cottages  would  be  an  improvement 
to  the  spot,  and  accordingly  granted  leases  of  portions  to 
several  respectable  inhabitants.  Each  lessee  was  to  be 
subject  to  the  payment  of  a  merely  nominal  rent  for  the 
whole  term  of  lives,  on  condition  that  he  built  his  own  cot- 
tage, and  delivered  it  up  intact  at  the  end  of  the  term. 

Those  who  had  built  had,  one  by  one,  relinquished  their 
indentures,  either  by  sale  or  barter,  to  Farmer  Springrove's 
father.  New  lives  were  added  in  some  cases,  by  payment 
of  a  sum  to  the  lord  of  the  manor,  etc.,  and  all  the  leases 
were  now  held  by  the  farmer  himself,  as  one  of  the  chief  pro- 
visions for  his  old  age. 

The  steward  had  become  interested  in  the  following  con- 
\ersation. 

"  Try  not  to  be  so  depressed,  father  ;  they  are  all  in- 
sured." 

The  words  came  from  Edward,  in  an  anxious  tone. 

"  You  mistake,  Edward ;  they  are  not  insured,"  returned 
the  old  man  gloomily. 

"  Not !  "  the  son  asked. 

"  Not  one  ! "  said  the  farmer. 

"  In  the  Helmet  Fire  Office,  surely  ?  " 

"  They  were  insured  there  every  one.  Six  months  ago 
the  office,  which  had  been  raising  the  premiums  on  thatched 
premises  higher  for  some  years,  gave  up  insuring  them  alto- 
gether, as  two  or  three  other  fire  offices  had  done  previously, 
an  account,  they  said,  of  the  uncertainty  and  greatness  of 
the  risk  of  thatch  undetached.  Ever  since  then  I  have  been 
continually  intending  to  go  to  another  office,  but  have  never 
gone.     Who  expects  a  fire  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember  the  terms  of  the  leases  ?  "  said  Ed- 
ward, still  more  uneasily. 

"  Noj  not  particularly,"  said  his  father,  absently. 

"  Where  are  they  ?  " 


1 84  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  In  the  bureau  there ;  that's  why  I  tried  to  save  it  first, 
among  other  things." 

"Well,  we  must  see  to  that  at  once." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"The  key." 

They  went  into  the  south  aisle,  took  the  candle  from  the 
font,  and  then  proceeded  to  open  the  bureau,  which  had 
been  placed  in  a  corner  under  the  gallery.  Both  leant  over 
upon  the  flap  ;  Edward  holding  the  candle,  whilst  his  father 
took  the  pieces  of  parchment  from  out  of  the  drawers,  and 
spread  the  lirst  out  before  him. 

"You  read  it,  Ted.  I  can't  see  without  my  glasses. 
This  one  will  be  sufficient.     The  terms  of  all  are  the  same." 

Edward  took  the  parchment,  and  read  quickly  and  indis- 
tinctly for  some  time  ;  then  aloud  and  slowly  as  follows  : 

"^nir  the  said  John  Springrove  for  himself  his  heirs  ex- 
ecutors and  administrators  doth  covenant  and  agree  with  the 
said  Gerald  Fellcourt  Aldclyffe  his  heirs  and  assigns  that  he 
the  said  John  Springrove  his  heirs  and  assigns  during  the 
said  term  shall  pay  into  the  said  Gerald  Fellcourt  Aldclyffe 
his  heirs  and  assigns  the  clear  yearly  rent  of  ten  shillings 
and  sixpence  .  ...  at  the  several  times  hereinbefore  ap- 
pointed for  the  payment  thereof  respectively,  "^nb  also  shall 
and  at  all  times  during  the  said  term  well  and  sufficiently  re- 
pair and  keep  the  said  Cottage  or  Dwelling-house  and  all 
other  the  premises  and  all  houses  or  buildings  erected  or  to 
be  erected  thereupon  in  good  and  proper  repair  in  every  re- 
spect without  exception  :  and  the  said  premises  in  such  good 
repair  upon  the  determination  of  this  demise  shall  yield  up 
unto  the  said  Gerald  Fellcourt  Aldclyffe  his  heirs  and  as- 
signs." 

They  closed  the  bureau  and  turned  towards  the  door  of 
the  church  without  speaking. 

Mansion  also  had  come  forward  out  of  the  gloom.  Not- 
withstanding the  farmer's  own  troubles,  an  instinctive  respect 
and  generous  sense  of  sympathy  with  the  steward  for  his 
awful  loss,  caused  the  old  man  to  step  aside,  that  Manston 
might  pass  out  without  speaking  to  them  if  he  chose  to  do  so. 

"Who  is  he?"  whispered  Edward  to  his  father,  as  Man- 
ston approached. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  1 85 

"Mr.  Mansion,  the  steward." 

Mansion  came  near,  and  passed  down  the  aisle  on  the  side 
of  the  younger  man.  Their  faces  came  ahnost  close  togeth- 
er :  one  large  flame,  which  still  lingered  upon  the  ruins  out- 
side, threw  long  dancing  shadows  of  each  across  the  nave 
till  they  bent  upwards  against  the  aisle  wall,  and  also  illum- 
inated their  eyes,  as  each  met  those  of  the  other,  Edward 
had  learnt,  by  a  letter  from  home,  of  the  steward's  passion 
for  Cytherea,  and  his  mysterious  repression  of  it,  afterwards  1 
explained  by  his  marriage.  That  marriage  was  now  naught. 
Edward  realized  the  man's  newly  acquired  freedom,  and  felt ' 
an  instinctive  enmity  towards  him,- — he  would  hardly  own  to 
himself  why.  The  steward  too,  knew  of  Cytherea's  attach- 
ment to  Edward,  and  looked  keenly  and  inscrutably  at  him. 


§  7.   One  to  two  a.  m. 

Manston  went  homeward  alone,  his  heart  full  of  strange 
emotions.  Entering  the  house  and  dismissing  the  woman 
to  her  own  home,  he  at  once  proceeded  upstairs  to  his  bed- 
room. 

Reasoning  worldliness  and  infidelity,  especially  when  al- 
lied with  sensuousness,  cannot  repress  on  some  extreme  oc- 
casions the  human  instinct  to  pour  out  the  soul  to  some  Be- 
ing or  Personality,  who  in  frigid  moments  is  dismissed  with 
the  title  of  Chance,  or  at  most  Law.  Manston  was  impious- 
ly and  inhumanly,  but  honestly  and  unutterably,  thankful  for 
the  recent  catastrophe.  Beside  his  bed,  for  the  first  time 
during  a  period  of  nearly  twenty  years,  he  fell  down  upon 
his  knees  in  a  passionate  outburst  of  feeling. 

Many  minutes  passed  before  he  arose.  He  walked  to  the 
window,  and  then  seemed  to  remember  for  the  first  time  that 
some  action  on  his  part  was  necessary  in  connection  with  the 
sad  circumstance  of  the  night. 

I^eaving  the  house  at  once,  he  went  to  the  scene  of  the 
fire,  arriving  there  in  time  to  hear  the  rector  making  an  ar- 
rangement with  a  certain  number  of  men  to  watch  the  spot 
till  morning.  The  ashes  were  still  red-hot  and  flaming. 
Manston  found  nothing  could  be  done  towards  searching 
them  at  that  hour  of  the  night.    He  turned  homeward  again, 


1 86  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

in  the  company  of  the  rector,  who  had  considerately  per- 
suaded him  to  retire  from  the  scene  for  a  while,  and  prom- 
ised that  as  soon  as  a  man  could  live  amid  the  embers  of  the 
Three  Tranters  Inn,  they  should  be  carefiiily  searched  foi 
the  remains  of  his  unfortunate  wife. 

Manston  then  went  indoors,  to  wait  for  morning. 


CHAPTER  XT. 

THE   EVENTS   OF   FIVE   DAYS. 

§  I.  November  the  twenty-ninth. 

THE  search  was  commenced  at  dawn,  but  a  quarter 
past  nine  oclock  came  without  bringing  any  result. 
Mansion  partook  of  a  Httle  breakfast,  and  crossed  the  hol- 
low of  the  park  which  intervened  between  the  old  and  mod- 
ern manor-houses,  to  ask  for  an  interview  with  Miss  Aldclyfte. 

He  met  her  midway.  She  was  about  to  pay  him  a.visit  of 
condolence,  and  to  place  every  man  on  the  estate  at  his  dis- 
posal, that  the  search  for  any  relic  of  his  dead  and  destroyed 
wife  might  not  be  delayed  an  instant. 

He  accompanied  her  back  to  the  house.  At  first  they  con- 
versed as  if  the  death  of  the  poor  woman  was  an  event  which 
the  husband  must  of  necessity  deeply  lament ;  and  when  all 
under  this  head  that  social  form  seemed  to  require  had  been 
uttered,  they  spoke  of  the  material  damage  done,  and  of  the 
steps  which  had  better  be  taken  to  remedy  it. 

It  was  not  till  both  were  shut  inside  her  private  room  that 
she  spoke  to  him  in  her  blunt  and  cynical  manner.  A  cer- 
tain newness  of  bearing  in  him,  peculiar  to  the  present  morn- 
ing, had  hitherto  forbidden  her  this  tone  :  the  demeanor  of 
the  subject  of  her  favoritism  had  altered,  she  could  not  tell 
in  what  way.     He  was  entirely  a  changed  man. 

"  Are  you  really  sorry  for  your  poor  wife,  Mr.  Manston  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  Well,  I  am,"  he  answered,  shortly. 

"  But  only  as  for  any  human  being  who  has  met  with  a  vio- 
lent death  ?  " 

He  confessed  it — "  For  she  was  not  a  good  woman,"  he 
added. 

"  1  should  be  sorry  to  say  such  a  thing  now  the  poor  creat> 
ure  is  dead,"  Miss  Aldclyffe  returned,  reproachfully. 


1 88  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  Why  ? "  he  asked ;  "  Why  should  I  praise  her  if  she 
doesn't  deserve  it?  I  say  exactly  what  I  have  often  admired 
Sterne  for  saying  in  one  of  his  letters, — that  neither  reason 
nor  scripture  abks  us  to  speak  nothing  but  good  of  the  dead. 
And  now,  madam,"  he  continued,  after  a  short  interval  of 
thouglit,  "I  may,  perhaps,  hope  that  you  A^ill  assist  me,  or 
rather  not  thwart  me,  in  endeavoring  to  win  the  love  of  a 
young  lady  living  about  you,  one  in  whom  I  am  much  inter- 
ested already." 

"Cytherea!" 

"  Yes,  Cytherea." 

"  You  have  been  loving  Cytherea  all  the  while  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Sur|)rise  was  a  preface  to  much  agitation  in  her,  which 
caused  her  to  rise  from  her  seat,  and  pace  to  the  side  of  the 
room.  The  steward  quietly  looked  on  and  added,  "  I  have 
been  loving  and  still  love  her," 

She  came  close  up  to  him,  wistfully  contemplating  his 
face,  one  hand  moving  indecisively  at  her  side. 

"  And  your  secret  marriage  was,  then,  the  true  and  only 
reason  for  that  backwardness  regarding  the  courtship  of 
Cytherea,  which,  they  tell  me,  has  been  the  talk  of  the  vil- 
lage ;  not  your  indifference  to  her  attractions."  Her  voice 
had  a  tone  of  conviction  in  it,  as  well  as  of  inquiry  ;  but  none 
of  jealousy. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  and  not  a  dishonorable  one.  What 
held  me  back  was  just  that  one  thing — a  sense  of  morality 
that  perhaps,  madam,  you  did  not  give  me  credit  for."  The 
latter  words  were  spoken  with  a  mien  and  tone  of  pride. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  preserved  silence. 

"And  now,"  he  went  on,  "I  may  as  well  say  a  word  in 
vindication  of  my  conduct  lately,  at  the  risk,  too,  of  offend- 
ing you.  My  actual  motive  in  submitting  to  your  order  that 
I  should  send  for  my  late  wife,  and  live  with  her,  was  not 
the  mercenary  poHcy  of  wishing  to  retain  an  office  which 
brings  me  a  higher  income  than  any  I  have  enjoyed  before, 
but  this  unquenchable  passion  for  Cytherea.  Though  I  saw 
the  weakness,  folly,  and  even  wickedness  of  it  continually, 
it  still  forced  me  to  try  to  continue  near  her,  even  as  the 
husband  of  another  woman." 

He  waited  for  her  to  speak  :  she  did  not.    -- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  1 89 

"  There's  a  great  obstacle  to  my  making  any  way  in  win- 
ning Miss  Graye's  love,"  he  went  on. 

"  Yes,  Edward  Springrove,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  I  know 
it,  I  did  once  want  to  see  them  married ;  they  have  had  a 
slight  quarrel,  and  it  will  soon  be  made  up  again,  unless — " 
she  spoke  as  if  she  had  only  half  attended  to  Mansion's  last 
statement. 

"  He  is  already  engaged  to  be  married  to  somebody  else," 
said  the  steward. 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  she,  "you  mean  to  his  cousin  at  Peakhill ; 
that's  nothing  to  help  us;  he's  now  come  home  to  break  it 
off." 

"He  must  not  break  it  off,"  said  Mansion,  firmly  and 
calmly. 

His  tone  attracted  her,  startled  her.  Recovering  herself, 
she  said  haughtily,  "Well,  that's  your  affair,  not  mine. 
Though  my  wish  has  been  to  see  her  your  wife,  I  can't  do 
anything  dishonorable  to  bring  about  such  a  result." 

"  But  it  must  be  made  your  affair,"  he  said  in  a  hard, 
steady  voice,  looking  into  her  eyes,  as  if  he  saw  there  the 
whole  panorama  of  her  past. 

One  of  the  most  difficult  things  to  portray  by  written 
words  is  that  peculiar  mixture  of  moods  expressed  in  a 
woman's  countenance  when,  after  having  been  sedulously 
engaged  in  establishing  another's  position,  she  suddenly  sus- 
pects him  of  undermining  her  own. 

It  was  thus  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  looked  at  the  steward. 

"You — know — something — of  me?"  she  faltered. 

"  i  know  all,"  he  said. 

"Then  curse  that  wife  "of  yours  !  She  wrote  and  said  she 
wouldn't  tell  you  ! "  she  burst  out.  "  Couldn't  she  keep  her 
word  for  a  day  ?  "  She  reflected  and  then  said,  but  no  more 
as  to  a  stranger,  "  I  will  not  yield.  I  have  committed  no 
crime.  I  yielded  to  her  threats  in  a  moment  of  weakness, 
though  I  felt  inchned  to  defy  her  at  the  time  :  it  was  chiefly 
because  I  was  mystified  as  to  how  she  got  to  know  of  it. 
Pooh  !  I  will  put  up  with  threats  no  more.  Oh,  can  you 
threaten  me  ?  "  she  added,  softly,  as  if  she  had  for  the  mo- 
ment forgotten  to  whom  she  had  been  speaking. 

"  My  love  must  be  made  your  affair,"  he  repeated,  with- 
out taking  his  eyes  from  her. 


ipo 


DESPERA7E  REMEDIES. 


i\n  agony,  which  Avas  not  the  agony  of  being  discovered 
in  a  secret,  obstructed  her  utterance  for  a  time.  "  How  can  ^ 
you  turn  upon  nie  so  when  I  scliemed  to  get  you  here — 
schemed  that  you  might  win  her  till  I  found  you  were  mar- 
ried. O,  how  can  you  !  O  !  .  .  .  O  !  "  She  wept  •  and  the 
weeping  of  such  a  nature  was  as  harrowing  as  the  weeping 
of  a  man. 

"Your  getting  me  here,  was  bad  poHcy  as  to  your  secret 
— the  most  absurd  thing  in  the  world,"  he  said,  not  heeding 
her  distress,  "  I  knew  all,  except  the  identity  of  the  individ- 
ual, long  ago.  Directly  1  found  that  my  coming  here  was  a 
contrived  thing  and  not  a  matter  of  chance,  it  fixed  my  at- 
tention upon  you  at  once.  All  that  was  required  was  the 
mere  spark  of  life,  to  make  of  a  bundle  of  perceptions  an  or- 
ganic whole." 

''Policy,  how  can  you  talk  of  policy.  Think,  do  think  ! 
And  how  can  you  threaten  me  when  you  know — you  know 
— that  1  would  befriend  you  readily  without  a  direat !  " 

"Yes,  yes,  1  think  you  would,"  he  said  more  kindly,  "but 
your  indifference  for  so  many  many  years  has  made  me  doubt 
it." 

"  No,  not  indifference — 'twas  enforced  silence  :  my  father 
lived." 

He  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  gently. 

"  Now  listen,"  he  said,  more  quietly  and  humanly,  when 
she  had  become  calmer,  "Springrove  must  marry  the  woman 
he's  engaged  to.     You  may  make  him,  but  only  in  one  way." 

'•  Well :    but  don't  speak  sternly,  ^neas  !  " 

"  Do  you  know  that  his  father  has  not  been  particularly 
thriving  for  the  last  two  or  three  years  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  it,  once  or  twice,  though  his 
rents  have  been  promptly  paid,  haven't  they?" 

"  O  yes  ;  and  do  you  know  the  terms  of  the  leases  of  the 
houses  which  are  burnt  ?  "  he  said,  explaining  to  her  that  by 
those  terms,  she  might  compel  him  even  to  rebuild  every 
house.  "  The  case  is  the  clearest  case  of  fire  by  negligence 
that  I  have  ever  known,  in  addition  to  that,"  he  continued. 

"  I  don't  want  them  rebuilt  ;  you  know  it  was  intended  by 
my  father,  directly  they  fell  in,  to  clear  the  site  for  a  new 
entrance  to  the  park  ?  " 


DESPERA  TE  REMEDIES. 


191 


"  Yes,  but  that  doesn't  affect  the  position,  which  is  that 
Farmer  Springrove  is  in  your  power  to  an  extent  whicli  is 
very  serious  for  him," 

"1  won't  do  it — 'tis  a  conspiracy." 

"  Won't  you  for  me  ?  "  he  said  eagerly. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  changed  color. 

"I  don't  threaten  now,  I  implore,"  he  said. 

"Because  you  might  threaten  if  you  chose,"  she  mourn« 
fully  answered.  "  But  why  be  so — when  your  marriage  with 
her  was  my  own  pet  idea  long  before  it  was  yours  1  What 
must  I  do  ?  " 

"  Scarcely  anything :  simply  this.  When  I  have  seen  old 
Mr.  Springrove,  which  I  shall  do  in  a  day  or  two,  and  told 
him  that  he  will  be  expected  to  rebuild  the  houses,  do  you 
seethe  young  man.  See  him  yourself,  in  order  that  the  pro- 
posal made  may  not  ai)pear  to  be  anything  more  than  an 
impulse  of  your  own.  You  or  he  will  bring  up  the  subject 
of  the  houses.  To  rebuild  them  would  be  a  matter  of  at 
least  six  hundred  pounds,  and  he  will  almost  surely  say  that 
we  are  hard  in  insisting  upon  the  extreme  letter  of  the 
leases.  Then  tell  him,  that  neither  can  you  yourself  think 
of  compelling  an  old  tenant  like  his  father  to  any  such  pain- 
ful extreme — there  shall  be  no  compulsion  to  build,  simply 
a  surrender  of  the  leases.  Then  speak  feelingly  of  his 
cousin,  as  a  woman  whom  you  respect  and  love,  and  whose 
secret  you  have  learnt  to  be  that  she  is  heart-sick  with  hope 
deferred.  Beg  him  to  marry  her,  his  betrothed  and  your 
friend,  as  some  return  for  your  consideration  towards  his 
father.  Don't  suggest  too  early  a  day  for  their  marriage,  or 
he  will  suspect  you  of  some  motive  beyond  womanly  sympa- 
thy. Coax  him  to  make  a  promise  to  her  that  she  shall  be 
his  wife  at  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth,  and  get  him,  on  assent- 
ing to  this,  to  write  to  Cytherea,  entirely  renouncing  her." 

"  She  has  already  asked  him  to  do  that." 

"  So  much  the  better — and  telling  her  too,  that  he  is  about 
to  fulfil  his  long  standing  promise  to  marry  his  cousin.  It 
you  think  it  worth  while,  you  may  say  Cytherea  was  not  in- 
disposed to  think  of  me  before  she  knew  1  was  married.  I 
have  at  home  a  note  she  wrote  me  the  first  evening  1  saw 
her,  which  looks  rather  warm,  and  which  I  could  show  you. 
Trust  me,   he  will  give  her  up.     When  he  is  married  ta 


192 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


Adelaide  Ilinton,  Cytherea  will  be  induced  to  marry  me — • 
perhaps  before ;  a  woman's  pride  is  soon  wounded." 

"And  hadn't  I  better  write  to  Mr.  Nyttleton,  and  inquire 
more  particularly  what's  the  law  upon  the  houses?" 

"O  no,  there's  no  hurry  for  that.  We  know  well  enough 
how  the  case  stands — quite  well  enough  to  talk  in  general 
terms  about  it.  And  I  want  the  pressure  to  be  put  upon 
young  Springrove  before  he  goes  away  from  home  again." 

She  looked  at  him  furtively,  long,  and  sadly,  as  after 
speaking  he  became  lost  in  thought,  his  eyes  listlessly  trac- 
ing the  pattern  of  the  carpet.  "  Yes,  yes,  she  will  be 
mine,"  he  whispered,  careless  of  Cytherea  Aldclyffe's  pres- 
ence.    At  last  he  raised  his  eyes  inquiringly. 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  .^^neas,"  she  answered. 

Talibus  incusat.  Manston  then  left  the  house,  and  again 
went  towards  the  blackened  ruins,  where  men  were  still 
raking  and  probing. 


§  2.  From  November  the  hventy-ninth  to  December  the 
second. 

The  smouldering  remnants  of  the  Three  Tranters  Inn 
seemed  to  promise  that,  even  when  the  searchers  should 
light  upon  the  remains  of  the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Manston, 
very  little  would  be  discoverable. 

Consisting  so  largely  of  the  charcoal  and  ashes  of  hard 
dry  oak  and  chestnut,  intermingled  with  thatch,  the  interior 
of  the  heap  was  one  glowing  mass  of  embers,  which  on 
being  stirred  about  emitted  sparks  and  flame  long  after  it 
was  dead  and  black  on  the  outside.  It  was  persistently 
hoped,  however,  that  some  traces  of  the  body  would  survive 
the  effect  of  the  hot  coals,  and  after  a  search  pursued  unin- 
terruptedly for  thirty  hours,  under  the  direction  of  Manston 
himself,  enough  was  found  to  set  at  rest  any  doubts  of  her 
fate. 

The  melancholy  gleanings  consisted  of  her  watch,  bunch 
of  keys,  a  few  coins,  and  two  charred  and  blackened  bones. 

Two  days  later  the  official  inquiry  into  the  cause  of  her 
death  was  held  at  the  Traveller's  Rest  Inn,  before  Mr.  Floy, 
the  coroner,  and  a  jury  of  the  chief  inhabitants  of  the  dis- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


193 


trict.  The  little  tavern — the  only  remaining  one  in  the 
village — was  crowded  to  excess  by  the  neighboring  peasan- 
try as  well  as  their  richer  emj^loyers  :  all  who  could  by  any 
possibility  obtain  an  hour's  release  from  their  duties  being 
present  as  listeners. 

The  jury  viewed  the  sad  and  infinitesimal  remains,  which 
were  folded  in  a  white  cambric  cloth,  and  laid  in  the  middle 
of  a  well-finished  coffin  lined  with  white  silk  (by  Manston's 
order),  which  stood  in  an  adjoining  room,  the  bulk  of  the 
coffin  being  completely  filled  in  with  carefully  arranged 
flowers  and  evergreens — also  the  steward's  own  doing. 

Abraham  Brown,  of  Hoxton,  London— an  old  white- 
headed  man,  without  the  ruddiness  which  makes  white  hairs 
so  pleasing — was  sworn,  and  deposed  that  he  kept  a  lodging- 
house  at  an  address  he  named.  On  a  Saturday  evening  less 
than  a  month  before  the  fire,  a  lady  came  to  him,  with  very 
httle  luggage,  and  took  the  front  room  on  the  second  floor. 
He  did  not  inquire  where  she  came  from,  as  she  paid  a  week 
in  advance,  but  she  gave  her  name  as  Mrs.  M.anston,  refer- 
ring him,  if  he  wished  for  any  guarantee  of  her  respectability, 
to  Mr.  Manston,  Knapwater  Park,  near  Froorninster.  Here 
she  lived  for  three  weeks,  rarely  going  out.  She  slept  away 
from  her  lodgings  one  night  during  the  time  ;  at  the  end  of 
that  time,  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  November,  she  left  his 
house  in  a  four-wheeled  cab,  about  twelve  o'clock  in  the 
day,  telling  the  driver  to  take  her  to  the  Waterloo  Station. 
She  paid  all  her  lodging  expenses,  and  not  having  given 
notice  the  full  week  previous  to  her  going  away,  offered  to 
pay  for  the  next,  but  he  only  took  half  She  wore  a  thick 
black  veil,  and  gray  water-|)roof  cloak,  when  she  left  him, 
and  her  luggage  was  two  boxes,  done  of  i)lain  deal,  with 
black  japanned  clamps,  the  other  sewn  up  in  canvas. 

Josei)h  Chinney,  porter  at  the  Carriford  Road  Station, 
deposed  that  he  saw  Mrs.  Manston,  dressed  as  the  last  wit- 
ness had  described,  get  out  of  a  second-class  carriage  on  the 
night  of  the  twenty-eighth.  She  stood  beside  him  whilst  her 
luggage  was  taken  from  the  van.  The  luggage,  consisting 
of  the  clamped  deal  box  and  another  covered  with  canvas, 
was  placed  in  the  cloak-room.  She  seemed  at  a  loss  at  find- 
ing nobody  there  to  meet  her.  She  asked  him  for  some 
person  to  accompany  her,  and  carry  her  bag   to  Mr.  Man 


194 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


ston's  house,  Knapwater  Park.  He  was  just  off  duty  at 
that  time,  and  offered  to  go  himself.  The  witness  here  re- 
peated the  conversation  he  had  had  with  Mrs.  Manston  dur- 
ing their  walk,  and  testified  to  having  left  her  at  the  door  of 
the  Three  Tranters  Inn,  Mr.  Mansion's  house  being  closed. 

Next  Farmer  Springrove  was  called.  A  murmur  of  sur- 
prise and  commiseration  passed  round  the  crowded  room 
when  he  stepped  forward. 

The  events  of  the  few  preceding  days  had  so  worked 
upon  his  nervously  thoughtful  nature,  that  the  blue  orbits  of 
his  eyes,  and  the  mere  spot  of  scarlet  to  which  the  ruddiness 
of  his  cheeks  had  contracted,  seemed  the  result  of  a  heavy 
sickness.  A  perfect  silence  pervaded  the  assembly  when  he 
spoke. 

His  statement  was  that  he  received  Mrs.  Manston  at  the 
threshold,  and  asked  her  to  enter  the  parlor.  She  would  not 
do  so,  and  stood  in  the  passage  whilst  the  maid  went  up- 
stairs to  see  that  the  room  was  in  order.  The  maid  came 
down  to  the  middle  landing  of  the  staircase,  when  Mrs. 
Manston  followed  her  up  to  the  room.  He  did  not  speak 
ten  words  with  her  altogether. 

Afterwards,  whilst  he  was  standing  at  the  door  listening 
for  his  son  Edward's  return,  he  saw  her  light  extinguished, 
having  first  caught  sight  of  her  shadow  moving  about  the 
room. 

The  Coroner.  "  Did  her  shadow  appear  to  be  that  of  a 
woman  undressing  ?  " 

Springrove.  "  I  cannot  say,  as  I  didn't  take  particular 
notice.  It  moved  backwards  and  forwards  :  she  might  have 
been  undressing  or  merely  pacing  up  and  down  the  room." 

Mrs.  Fitler  the  hostler's  wife,  and  chambermaid,  said  that 
she  preceded  Mrs.  Manston  into  the  room,  put  down  the 
candle  and  went  out.  Mrs.  Manston  scarcely  spoke  to  her, 
except  to  ask  her  to  bring  a  little  brandy.  Witness  went  and 
fetched  it  from  the  bar,  brought  it  up,  and  put  it  on  the  dress- 
ing-table. 

The  Coroner.  "  Had  Mrs.  Manston  begun  to  undress  wheu 
you  came  back  ?  " 

'*  No,  sir  :  sJie  was  sitting  on  the  bed,  with  everything  on, 
as  when  she  came  in. 

"  Did  she  begin  to  undress  before  you  left  ?  " 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


I9S 


"  Not  exactly  before  I  had  left :  but  when  I  had  closed  the 
door,  and  was  on  the  landing,  I  heard  her  boot  drop  on  the 
iloor,  as  it  does  sometimes  when  pulled  off." 

"  Had  her  face  appeared  worn  and  sleepy  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say,  as  her  bonnet  and  veil  were  still  on  when 
I  left,  for  she  seemed  rather  shy  and  ashamed  to  be  seen  at 
the  Three  Tranters  at  all." 

"  And  did  you  hear  or  see  any  more  of  her  ?  " 

"  No  more,  sir." 

Mrs.  Crickett,  provisional  servant  to  Mr.  Manston,  said 
that  in  accordance  with  Mr.  Manston's  orders,  everything 
had  been  made  comfortable  in  the  house  for  Mrs,  Manston's 
exi)ected  return  on  Monday  night.  Mr,  Manston  told  her 
that  himself  and  Mrs.  Manston  would  be  home  late,  not  till 
between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock,  and  that  sui)per  was  to 
be  ready.  Not  expecting  Mrs.  Manston  so  early,  she  had 
gone  out  on  a  very  important  errand  to  Mrs.  Leat's  the  post- 
mistress. 

Mr.  Manston  deposed  that  in  looking  down  the  columns  of 
Bradshaw  he  had  mistaken  the  time  of  the  train's  arrival, 
and  hence  was  not  at  the  station  when  she  came.  The 
broken  watch  produced  was  his  wife's — he  knew  it  by  a 
scratch  on  the  inner  plate,  and  by  other  signs.  The  bunch 
of  keys  belonged  to  her  :  two  of  them  fitted  the  locks  of  her 
two  Doxes. 

Mr.  Flooks,  agent  to  Lord  Claydonfield  at  Chettlewood. 
said  that  Mr.  Ijttanston  had  pleaded  as  his  excuse  for  leaving 
him  rather  early  in  the  evening  after  their  day's  business  had 
been  settled,  that  he  was  going  to  meet  his  wife  at  Carriford 
Road  Station,  where  she  was  coming  by  the  last  train  that 
night. 

'The  surgeon  said  that  the  remains  were  those  of  a  human 
being.  The  small  fragment  seemed  a  portion  of  one  of  the 
lumbar  vertebrae — the  other  the  extreme  end  of  the  os  fem- 
oris — but  they  were  both  so  far  gone  that  it  was  impossible  to 
say  definitely  whether  they  belonged  to  the  body  of  a  male 
or  female.  There  was  no  moral  doubt  that  they  were  a 
woman's.  He  did  not  believe  that  death  resulted  from  burn- 
ing by  fire.  He  thought  she  was  crushed  by  the  fall  of  the 
west  gable,  which  being  of  wood,  as  well  as  the  floor,  burni 
after  it  had  fallen,  and  consumed  the  body  with  it. 


ig6 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 


Two  or  three  additional  witnesses  gave  unimportan<^  testi- 
mony. 

The  coroner  summed  up,  and  the  jury  without  hesitation 
found  that  the  deceased  Mrs.  Mansion  came  by  her  death 
accidentally,  through  the  burning  of  the  Three  Tranters  Inn. 


§  3.  December  the  second.     Afternoon. 

Wlien  Mr.  Springrove  came  from  the  door  of  the  Travel- 
ler's Rest  at  the  end  of  the  inquiry,  Manston  walked  by  his 
side  as  far  as  the  stile  to  the  park,  a  distance  of  about  a  stone's 
throw. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Springrove,  this  is  a  sad  affair  for  everybody 
concerned." 

"  Everybody,"  said  the  old  farmer,  with  deep  sadness, 
"'tis  quite  a  misery  to  me.  1  hardly  know  how  I  shall  live 
through  each  day  as  it  breaks.  I  think  of  the  words,  '  In 
the  morning  thou  shalt  say.  Would  God  it  were  even  !  and  at 
even  thou  shalt  say,  Would  God  it  were  morning!  for  the 
fear  of  thine  heart  wherewith  thou  shalt  fear,  and  for  the  sight 
of  thine  eyes  which  thou  shalt  see.' "  His  voice  became 
broken. 

"Ah — true.     I  read  Deuteronomy  myself,"  said  Manston. 

"  But  my  loss  is  as  nothing  to  yours,"  the  farmer  con- 
tinued. 

"  Nothing  ;  but  I  can  commiserate  you.  I  should  be  worse 
than  unfeeling  if  I  didn't,  although  my  own  affliction  is  of  so 
sad  and  solemn  a  kind.  Indeed  my  own  loss  makes  me 
more  keenly  alive  to  yours,  different  in  nature  as  it  is." 

"What  sum  do  you  think  would  be  required  of  me  to  put 
the  houses  in  place  again  ?  " 

"  I  have  roughly  thought  six  or  seven  hundred  pounds." 

"  If  the  letter  of  the  law  is  to  be  acted  up  to,"  said  the  old 
man  with  more  agitation  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  exactly." 

"  Do  you  know  enough  of  Miss  Aldclyfife's  mind  to  give 
me  an  idea  of  how  she  means  to  treat  me  ?  " 

"Well,  I  am  afraid  I  must  tell  you  that  though  I  know 
very  little  of  her  mind  as  a  rule,  in  this  matter  I  believe  ?he 
will  be  rather  peremptor)  ;  she  might  share  to  the  extent  of 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES,  1 97 

a  sixth  or  an  eighth  perhaps,  in  consideration  of  her  getting 
new  lamps  for  old,  but  I  should  hardly  think  more," 

The  steward  stepped  upon  the  stile,  and  Mr.  Springrove 
went  along  the  road  with  a  bowed  head  and  heavy  footsteps 
towards  his  niece's  cottage,  in  which,  rather  against  the  wish 
of  Edward,  they  had  temporarily  taken  refuge. 

The  additional  weight  of  this  knowledge  soon  made  itself 
perceptible.  Though  in-doors  with  Edward  or  Adelaide 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  afternoon,  nothing  more  than 
monosyllabic  replies  could  be  drawn  from  him.  Edward 
continually  discovered  him  looking  fixedly  at  the  wall  or 
floor,  quite  unconscious  of  another's  i)resence.  At  supper 
he  ate  just  as  usual,  but  quite  mechanically,  and  with  the 
same  abstraction. 


§  4.  December  the  third. 

The'  next  morning  he  was  in  no  better  spirits.  After- 
noon came :  his  son  was  alarmed,  and  managed  to 
draw  from  him  an  account  of  the  conversation  with  the 
steward. 

"  Nonsense  !  he  knows  nothing  about  it,"  said  Edward, 
vehemently.  "I'll  see  Miss  Aldclyffe  myself.  Now  prom- 
ise me,  father,  that  you'll  not  believe  till  I  come  back,  and 
tell  you  to  believe  it,  that  Miss  Aldclytfe  will  do  any  such 
unjust  thing." 

Edward  started  at  once  for  Knapwater  House.  He  strode 
rapidly  along  the  high-road,  till  he  reached  a  wicket  a  few 
yards  below  the  brosv  of  Buckshead  Hill,  where  a  foot-path 
allowed  of  a  short  cut  to  the  mansion.  Here  he  leant 
down  upon  the  bars  for  a  few  minutes,  meditating  as  to  the 
best  manner  of  opening  his  speech,  and  surveying  the  scene 
before  him  in  that  absent  mood  which  takes  cognizance  of 
little  things  without  being  conscious  of  them  at  the  time, 
though  they  appear  in  the  eye  afterwards  as  vivid  impres- 
sions. It  was  a  yellow,  lustrous,  late-autumn  day,  one  of 
those  days  of  the  quarter  when  morning  and  evening  seem 
to  meet  together  without  the  intervention  of  a  noon.  The 
clear  yellow  sunlight  had  tempted  forth  Miss  Aldclyffe  her- 
self, who  was  at  this  53,010  time  taking  a  walk  in  the  direc- 


1 98 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES, 


tion  of  the  village.  As  Springrove  lingered  he  heard  behind 
the  ])lantation  a  woman's  dress  brushing  along  amid  the 
prickly  husks  and  leaves  which  had  fallen  into  the  path  fron) 
the  boughs  of  the  chestnut  trees.  In  another  minute  she 
stood  in  front  of  him. 

He  answered  her  casual  greeting  respectfully,  and  was 
about  to  request  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  her,  when 
she  directly  addressed  him  on  the  subject  of  the  fire.  "  It 
is  a  sad  misfortune  for  your  father,"  she  said,  "  and  I  hear 
that  he  has  lately  let  his  insurances  expire  ?  " 

"  He  has,  madam,  and  you  are  probably  aware  that 
either  by  the  general  terms  of  his  holding,  or  the  same 
coupled  with  the  origin  of  the  fire,  the  disaster  may  involve 
the  necessity  of  his  rebuilding  the  whole  row  of  houses,  or 
else  of  becoming  a  debtor  to  the  estate,  to  the  extent  of 
some  hundreds  of  pounds  ?  " 

She  assented  ;  "  I  have  been  thinking  of  it,"  she  went 
on,  and  then  repeated  in  substance  the  words  put  into  hei 
mouth  by  the  steward.  Some  disturbance  of  thought  might 
have  been  fancied  as  taking  place  in  Springrove's  mind 
during  her  statement,  but  before  she  had  reached  the  end, 
his  eyes  were  clear,  and  directed  upon  her. 

"  I  don't  accept  your  conditions  of  release,"  he  said. 

"  They  are  not  conditions  exactly." 

"  Well,  whatever  they  are  not,  they  are  very  uncalled-for 
remarks." 

"  Not  at  all — the  houses  have  been  burnt  by  your  fam- 
ily's negligence." 

"I  don't  refer  to  the  houses — you  have  of  course  the 
best  of  all  rights  to  speak  of  that  matter ;  but  you,  a 
stranger  to  me  comparatively,  have  no  right  at  all  to  volun- 
teer opinions  and  wishes  upon  a  very  delicate  subject, 
which  concerns  no  living  beings  but  Miss  Graye,  Miss  Hin- 
ton,  and  myself." 

Miss  Aldclyffe,  like  a  good  many  others  in  her  positionj 
had  plainly  not  realized  that  a  son  of  her  tenant  and  inferior, 
could  have  become  an  educated  man,  who  had  learnt  to  feel 
his  individuality,  to  view  societyfrom  a  Bohemian  stand- 
pnint,  far  putsKl_e  the  farming  grade  in  Carriford  parfsli,  an^ 
that  hence  he  had  all  a  developed  man's  unorthodox  cpm- 
ion  about    the   subordination    of  classes.     And   fully    con- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  1 99 

scions  of  the  labyrinth  into  which  he  had  wandered  between 
his  wish  to  behave  honorably  in  the  dilemma  of  his  en- 
gagement lo  his  cousin  Adelaide,  and  the  intensity  of  his 
love  for  Cytherea,  Springrove  was  additionally  sensitive  to 
any  allusion  to  the  case.  He  had  spoken  to  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe  with  considerable  warmth. 

And  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  not  a  woman  likely  to  be  far  be- 
hind any  second  person  in  warming  to  a  mood  of  defiance. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  was  prepared  to  put  up  with  a  cold  re- 
fusal, but  that  her  haughtiness  resented  a  criticism  of  her 
conduct  ending  in  a  rebuke.  By  this,  Mansion's  discredita- 
ble object,  which  had  been  made  hers  by  compulsion  only, 
was  now  adopted  by  choice.  She  flung  herself  into  the 
work. 

A  fiery  man  in  such  a  case  would  have  relinquished  per- 
suasion and  tried  palpable  force.  A  fiery  woman  added 
unscrupulousness  and  evolved  daring  strategy ;  and  in  her 
obstinacy,  and  to  sustain  herself  as  mistress,  she  descended 
to  an  action  the  meanness  of  which  haunted  her  conscience 
to  her  dying  hour. 

"I  don't  quite  see,  Mr.  Springrove,"  she  said,  "that  I  am 
altogether  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  a  stranger.  1  have 
known  your  family,  at  any  rate,  for  a  good  many  years,  and 
I  know  Miss  Graye  particularly  well,  and  her  state  of  mind 
with  regard  to  this  matter." 

Perplexed  love  makes  us  credulous  and  curious  as  old 
women.  Edward  was  willing,  he  owned  it  to  himself,  to 
get  at  Cytherea's  state  of  mind,  even  through  so  dangerous 
a  medium. 

"A  letter  I  received  from  her,"  he  said,  with  assumed 
coldness,  "tells  me  clearly  enough  what  Miss  Graye's  mind 
is." 

"You  think  she  still  loves  you?  O,  yes,  of  course  you 
do — all  men  are  like  that." 

"  I  have  reason  to."  He  could  feign  no  further  than  the 
first  speech. 

"  I  should  be  interested  in  knowing  what  reason  ?  "  she 
said,  with  sarcastic  archness. 

Edward  felt  he  was  allowing  her  to  do,  in  fractional  parts, 
what  he  rebelled  against  when  regarding  it  as  a  whole ;  but 
the  fact  that  his  antagonist  had  the  presence  of  a  queen,  an<l 


200  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

features  only  in  the  early  evening  of  their  beauty,  was  not 
without  its  influence  upon  a  keenly  conscious  man.  Her 
bearing  ha<^  charmed  him  into  toleration,  as  Mary  Stuart's 
channed  the  indignant  Puritan  visitors.  He  again  answered 
her  honestly. 

"  The  best  of  reasons — the  tone  of  her  letter." 

*'  Pooh,  Mr.  Springrove  !  " 

"  Not  at  all,  Miss  Aldclyffe  !  Miss  Graye  desired  that  we 
should  be  strangers  to  each  other  for  the  simple  practical 
reason  that  intimacy  could  only  make  wretched  complica- 
tions worse,  not  from  lack  of  love — love  is  only  suppressed." 

"  Don't  you  know  yet,  that  in  thus  putting  aside  a  man, 
a  woman's  pity  for  the  pain  she  inflicts  gives  her  a  kindness 
of  tone  which  is  often  mistaken  for  suppressed  love?"  said 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  with  soft  insidiousness. 

This  was  a  translation  of  the  ambiguity  of  Cytherea's  tone 
which  he  had  certainly  never  thought  of;  and  he  was  too 
ingenuous  not  to  own  it. 

"  I  had  never  thought  of  it,"  he  said. 

"  And  don't  believe  it?  " 

"  Not  unless  there  was  some  other  evidence  to  support 
the  view." 

She  paused  a  minute  and  then  began  hesitatingly. 

"  My  intention  was — what  I  did  not  dream  of  owning  to 
you — my  intention  was  to  try  to  induce  you  to  fulfil  your 
promise  to  Miss  Hinton  not  solely  on  her  account  and  yours 
(though  partly).  1  love  Cytherea  Graye  with  all  my  soul, 
and  1  want  to  see  her  happy  even  more  than  I  do  you.  I 
do  not  mean  to  drag  her  name  into  the  affair  at  all,  but  I  am 
driven  to  say  that  she  wrote  that  letter  of  dismissal  to  you — 
for  it  was  a  most  pronounced  dismissal — not  on  account  of 
your  engagement.  She  is  old  enough  to  know  that  engage- 
ments can  be  broken  as  easily  as  they  can  be  made.  She 
wrote  it  because  she  loved  another  man  ;  very  suddenly,  and 
not  with  any  idea  or  hope  of  marrying  him,  but  none  the  less 
deeply." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Mr,  Manston." 

"  Good !     I  can't  listen  to  you  for  an  instant,  madam ; 

why,  she  hadn't  seen  him  ! " 

"  She  had  ;  he  came  here  the  day  before  she  wrote  to  you  ; 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  20I 

and  I  could  prove  to  yon,  if  it  were  worth  while,  that  on 
that  day,  she  went  voluntarily  to  his  house,  though  not  art- 
fully or  blamably  ;  stayed  for  two  hours  playing  and  singing : 
that  no  sooner  did  she  leave  him  than  she  went  straight 
home,  and  wrote  the  letter  saying  she  should  not  see  you 
again,  entirely  because  she  had  seen  him  and  fallen  des- 
perately in  love  with  him — a  perfectly  natural  thing  for  a 
young  girl  to  do,  considering  that  he's  the  handsomest  man 
in  the  county.  Why  else  should  she  not  have  written  to  you 
before  ?  " 

"  Because  I  was  such  a — because  she  did  not  know  of  the 
connection  between  me  and  my  cousin  until  then." 

"  I  must  think  she  did." 

"  On  what  ground?  " 

"  On  the  strong  ground  of  my  having  told  her  so,  dis- 
tinctly, the  very  first  day  she  came  to  live  with  me." 

"  VVell,  what  do  you  seek  to  impress  upon  me  after  all  ? 
This — that  the  day  Miss  Graye  wrote  to  me,  saying  it  was 
better  we  should  part,  coincided  with  the  day  she  had  seen  a 
certain  man — " 

"  A  remarkably  handsome  and  talented  man." 

"Yes,  I  admit  that." 

"  And  that  it  coincided  mth  the  hour  just  subsequent  to 
her  seeing  him." 

"  Yes,  just  when  she  had  seen  him." 

"  And  been  to  his  house  alone  with  him." 

"It  is  nothing." 

"  And  stayed  there  playing  and  singing  with  him." 

"Admit  that,  too,"  he  said;  "an  accident  might  have 
caused  it." 

"  And  at  the  same  instant  that  she  wrote  your  dismissal 
she  wrote  a  letter  referring  to  a  secret  appointment  with 
him." 

"  Never,  by  God,  madam  !  never  ' " 

"  What  do  you  say,  sir  ? '' 

"  Never." 

She  sneered. 

"There's  no  accounting  for  beliefs,  and  the  whole  history 
is  a  very  trivial  matter  ;  but  I  am  resolved  to  yirove  that  a 
lady's  word  is  truthful,  though  upon  a  matter  which  con- 
cerns neither  you  nor  herself.  You  shall  learn  that  she  did 
9* 


202  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

write  him  a  letter  concerning  an  assignation — that  is,  if  Mr. 
Mansion  still  has  it,  and  will  be  considerate  enough  to  lend 
it  me." 

•'But  besides,"  continued  Edward,  "  a  married  man  to  do 
what  would  cause  a  young  girl  to  write  a  note  of  the  kind 
you  mention  ! " 

She  flushed  a  little. 

"  That  I  don't  know  anything  about,"  she  stammered. 
"  But  Cytherea  didn't,  of  course,  dream  any  more  than  I 
did,  or  others  in  the  parish,  that  he  was  married." 

"  Of  course  she  didn't." 

"  And  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  told  her  of  the  fact 
directly  afterwards,  that  she  might  not  compromise  herself, 
or  allow  him  to.  It  is  notorious  that  he  struggled  honestly 
and  hard  against  her  attractions,  and  succeeded  in  hiding 
his  feelings,  if  not  in  quenching  them." 

"  We'll  hope  that  he  did." 

"  But  circumstances  are  changed  now." 

*'  Very  greatly  changed,"  he  murmured,  abstractedly. 

"  You  inust  remember,"  she  added,  more  suasively,  "  that 
Miss  Graye  has  a  perfect  right  to  do  what  she  likes  with  her 
own — her  heart,  that  is  to  say." 

Her  descent  from  irritation  was  caused  by  perceiving  that 
Edward's  faith  was  really  disturbed  by  her  strong  assertions, 
and  it  gratified  her. 

Edward's  thoughts  flew  to  his  father  and  the  object  of  his 
interviev/  with  her.  Tongue  fencing  was  utterly  distasteful 
to  him. 

"  I  will  not  trouble  you  by  remaining  longer,  madam," 
he  remarked,  gloomily  ;  "  our  conversation  has  ended  sadly 
for  me." 

"  Don't  think  so,"  she  said,  "and  don't  be  mistaken.  I 
am  older  than  you  are,  many  years  older,  and  I  know  many 
things." 

Full  of  miserable  doubt,  and  bitterly  regretting  that  he  had 
raised  his  father's  expectations  by  anticipations  impossible 
of  fulfilment,  Edward  slowly  wended  his  way  into  the  village, 
and  approached  his  cousin's  house.  The  farmer  was  at  the 
door  looking  eagerly  for  him.  He  had  been  waiting  there 
for  more  than  half  an  hour.     His  eye  kindled  quickly. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


203 


"  Well,  Ted,  what  does  she  say  ?  "  he  asked,  in  the  in- 
tensely sanguine  tones  which  fall  sadly  upon  a  listener's  ear, 
because,  antecedently,  they  raise  pictures  of  inevitable 
disappointment  for  the  speaker,  in  some  direction  or 
another. 

"  Nothing  for  us  to  be  alarmed  at,"  said  Edward,  with  a 
forced  cheerfulness. 

"  But  must  we  rebuild  ?  " 

"  It  seem  we  must,  father." 

The  old  man's  eye  swept  the  horizon,  then  he  turned  to 
go  in,  without  making  another  observation.  All  light  seemed 
extinguished  in  him  again.  When  Edward  went  in  he  found 
his  father  with  the  bureau  open,  unfolding  the  leases  with  a 
shaking  hand,  folding  them  up  again  without  reading  them, 
then  putting  them  in  their  niche  only  to  remove  them  again. 

Adelaide  was  in  the  room.  She  said  thoughtfully  to  Ed- 
ward, as  she  watched  the  farmer, — 

"  I  hope  it  won't  kill  poor  uncle,  Edward.  What  should 
we  do  if  anything  were  to  happen  to  him  ?  He  is  the  only 
near  relative  you  and  I  have  in  the  world."  It  was  perfectly 
true,  and  somehow  Edward  felt  more  bound  up  with  her 
after  that  remark. 

She  continued,  "And  he  was  only  saying  so  hopefully,  the 
day  before  the  fire,  that  he  wouldn't  for  the  world  let  anyone 
else  give  me  away  to  you  when  we  are  married." 

For  the  first  time  a  conscientious  doubt  arose  in  Edward's 
mind  as  to  the  justice  of  the  course  he  was  pursuing  in  re- 
solving to  refuse  the  alternative  offered  by  Miss  Aldclyfife. 
Could  it  be  selfishness  as  well  as  independence  ?  How 
much  he  had  thought  of  his  own  heart ;  how  little  he  had 
tliought  of  his  father's  peace  of  mind  ! 

The  old  man  did  not  speak  again  till  supper-time,  when 
he  began  asking  his  son  an  endless  number  of  hypothetical 
questions  on  what  might  induce  Miss  Aldclyffe  to  listen  to 
kinder  terms  :  speaking  of  her  now  not  as  an  unfair  woman, 
but  as  a  Lachesis  or  P'ate  whose  course  it  behoved  nobody 
to  condemn.  In  his  earnestness  he  once  turned  his  eyes  on 
Edward's  face  :  their  expression  was  woful ;  the  pupils  were 
dilated  and  strange  in  aspect. 

"If  she  will  only  agree  to  that!"  he  reiterated  for  the 
hundredth  time,  increasing  the  sadness  of  his  listeners. 


204  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

An  aristocratic  knocking  came  to  the  door,  and  Jane 
entered  with  a  letter,  addressed 

"  Mr.  Edward  Springrove,  Junior." 

"  Charles  from  Knapwater  House  brought  it,"  she  sai.l. 

"  Miss  Aldclyft'e's  writing,"  said  Mr.  Springrove,  before 
Edward  had  recognized  it  himself.  "  Now  'tis  all  right !  she's 
going  to  make  an  offer;  she  doesn't  want  the  houses  ihere, 
not  she ;  they  are  going  to  make  that  the  way  into  the 
park." 

Edward  opened  the  seal  and  glanced  at  the  inside.  He 
said,  with  a  supreme  effort  of  self-comn)and, — 

"It  is  only  directed  by  Miss  Aldclyfte,  and  refers  to  noth- 
ing connected  with  the  fire.  I  wonder  at  her  taking  the 
trouble  to  send  it  to-night." 

His  father  looked  absently  at  him,  and  turned  away  again. 

Shortly  afterwards  they  retired  for  the  night.  Alone  in 
his  bedroom  Edward  opened  and  read  what  he  had  not 
dared  to  refer  to  in  their  presence. 

The  envelope  contained  another  envelope  in  Cytherea's 
handwriting,  addressed  to  " — Manston,  Esq.,  Old  Manor 
House."  Inside  this  was  the  note  she  had  written  to  the 
steward  after  her  detention  in  his  house  by  the  thunder- 
storm : — 

"  Knapwater  House, 

"  September  20th. 

"  I  find  I  cannot  meet  you  at  seven  o'clock  by  the 
waterfall  as  I  promised.  The  emotion  I  felt  made  me  for- 
getful of  realities. 

"C.  Grave." 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  not  written  a  line,  and,  by  the  unvary- 
ing rule  observable  when  words  are  not  an  absolute  necessity, 
her  silence  seemed  ten  times  as  convincing  as  any  expression 
of  opinion  could  have  been. 

He  then,  step  by  step,  recalled  all  the  conversation  on  the 
subject  of  Cytherea's  feelings  that  had  passed  between  hiru- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


205 


self  and  Miss  Aldclyffe  in  the  afternoon,  and  by  a  confusion 
of  thought,  natural  enough  under  the  trying  experience,  con- 
cluded that  because  the  lady  was  truthful  in  her  portraiture 
of  effects,  she  must  necessarily  be  right  in  her  assumption  of 
causes.  That  is,  he  was  convinced  that  Cytherea — the 
hitherto-believed-faithful  Cytherea — had,  at  any  rate,  looked 
with  something  more  than  indifference  upon  the  extremely 
handsome  face  and  form  of  Manston. 

Did  he  blame  her,  as  guilty  of  the  impropriety  of  allowing 
herself  to  love  him  in  the  face  of  his  not  being  free  to 
return  her  love  ?  No  :  never  for  a  moment  did  he  doubt 
that  all  had  occurred  in  her  old,  innocent,  impulsive  way  :  that 
her  heart  was  gone  before  she  knew  it — before  she  knew  any- 
thing, beyond  his  existence,  of  the  man  to  whom  it  had  flown. 
Perhaps  the  very  note  enclosed  to  him  was  the  result  of  first 
reflection.  Manston  he  would  unhesitatingly  have  called  a 
scoundrel,  but  for  one  strikingly  redeeming  fact.  It  had 
been  patent  to  the  whole  parish,  and  had  come  to  Edward's 
own  knowledge  by  that  indirect  channel,  that  Manston,  as 
a  married  man,  conscientiously  avoided  Cytherea  after  those 
first  few  days  of  his  arrival  during  which  her  irresistibly 
beautiful  and  fatal  glances  had  rested  upon  him — his  upon 
her. 

Taking  from  his  coat  a  creased  and  pocket-worn  enve- 
lope containing  Cytherca's  letter  to  himself,  Springrove 
opened  it  and  read  it  through.  He  was  upbraided  therein, 
and  he  was  dismissed.  It  bore  the  date  of  the  letter  sent  to 
Manston,  and  by  containing  within  it  the  plirase,  "  All  the 
day  long  I  have  been  thinking,"  afforded  justifiable  ground 
for  assuming  that  it  was  written  subsequently  to  the  other 
(and  in  Edward's  sight  far  sweeter)  one,  to  the  steward. 

But  though  he  accused  her  of  fickleness,  he  would  not 
doubt  the  genuineness,  of  its  kind,  of  her  partiality  for  him 
at  Creston.  It  was  a  short  and  shallow  feeling  :  not  genu- 
ine love  : — 

^  "  Love  is  not  love, 

Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds." 

But  it  was  not  flirtation  ;  a  feeling  had  been  born  in  her 
and  had  died.  It  would  be  well  for  his  ])eace  of  mind  if  his 
love  for  her  could  flit  away  so  softly,  and  leave  so  few  traces 
behind. 


206  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  shown  herself  desperatel}-  concerned  in 
the  whole  matter  by  the  alacrity  with  which  she  had  obtained 
the  letter  from  Manston,  and  her  labors  to  induce  himself  to 
marry  his  cousin.  Taken  in  connection  with  her  apparent 
interest  in,  if  not  love  for,  Cytherea,  her  eagerness,  too,  could 
only  be  accounted  for  on  the  ground  that  Cytherea  indeed 
loved  the  steward. 


§  5.  Decernber  the  fourth. 

Edward  passed  the  night  he  scarcely  knew  how,  tossing 
feverishly  from  side  to  side,  the  blood  throbbing  in  his  tem- 
ples and  singing  in  his  ears. 

As  soon  as  day  began  to  break  he  dressed  himself.  On 
going  out  upon  the  landing  he  found  his  father's  bedroom 
door  already  open.  Edward  concluded  that  the  old  man  had 
risen  softly,  as  was  his  wont,  and  gone  out  into  the  fields  to 
start  the  laborers. 

But  neither  of  the  outer  doors  was  unfastened. 

He  entered  the  front  room,  and  found  it  empt)'.  Then 
animated  by  a  new  idea,  he  went  round  to  the  little  back 
parlor,  in  which  the  few  wrecks  saved  from  the  fire  were  de- 
posited, and  looked  in  at  the  door.  Here,  near  the  window, 
the  shutters  of  which  had  been  opened  half  way,  he  saw  his 
father  leaning  on  the  bureau,  his  elbows  resting  on  the  flap, 
his  body  nearly  doubled,  his  hands  clasping  his  forehead. 
Beside  him  were  ghostly-looking  square  folds  of  parchment — 
the  leases  of  the  houses  destroyed. 

His  father  looked  up  when  Edward  entered,  and  wearily 
spoke  to  the  young  man  as  his  face  came  into  the  faint  light. 

"  Edward,  why  did  you  get  up  so  early  ?  " 

"  I  was  uneasy,  and  could  not  sleep." 

The  farmer  turned  again  to  the  leases  on  the  bureau,  and 
seemed  to  become  lost  in  reflection.  In  a  minute  or  two, 
without  lifting  his  eyes,  he  saici, 

"  This  is  more  than  we  can  bear,  Ted,  more  than  we  can 
bear !  Ted,  this  will  kill  me.  Not  the  loss  only — the  sense 
of  my  neglect  about  the  insurance  and  everything.  Borrow 
1  never  will.  'Tis  all  misery  now.  God  help  us — all  misery 
now  ! " 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


207 


Edward  did  not  answer,  continuing  to  look  fixedly  at  the 
dreary  daylight  outside. 

"Ted,"  the  farmer  went  on,  "this  upset  of  been  burnt 
out  o'  home  makes  me  very  nervous  and  doubtful  about 
everything.  There's  this  troubles  me  besides — our  liven 
here  with  your  cousin,  and  fillen  up  her  house.  It  must  be 
very  awkward  for  her.  But  she  says  she  doesn't  mind. 
Have  you  said  anything  to  her  lately  about  when  you  are 
going  to  marry  her?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all  lately." 

"  Well  perhaps  you  may  as  well,  now  we  are  so  mixed  in 
together.  You  know,  no  time  has  ever  been  mentioned  to 
her  at  all,  first  or  last,  and  I  think  it  right  that  now,  since  she 
has  waited  so  patiently  and  so  long — you  are  almost  called 
upon  to  say  you  are  ready.  It  would  simplify  matters  very 
much,  if  you  were  to  walk  up  to  church  wi'  her  one  of  these 
mornings,  get  the  thing  done,  and  go  on  liven  here  as  we 
are.  if  you  don't  I  must  get  a  house  all  the  sooner.  It 
would  lighten  my  mind,  too,  about  the  two  little  freeholds 
over  the  hill — not  a  morsel  a-piece,  divided  as  they  were  be- 
tween her  mother  and  me,  but  a  tidy  bit  tied  together  again. 
Just  think  about  it,  will  ye,  Ted  ?  " 

He  stopped  from  exhaustion  produced  by  the  intense 
concentration  of  his  mind  upon  the  weary  subject,  and 
looked  anxiously  at  his  son. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  said  Edward. 

"  But  I  am  going  to  see  Her  of  the  Great  House  this 
morning,"  the  farmer  went  on,  his  thoughts  reverting  to  the 
old  subject.  "  I  must  know  the  rights  of  the  matter,  the 
when  and  the  where.  I  don't  like  seen  her,  but  I'd  rather 
talk  to  her  than  the  steward.  I  wonder  what  she'll  say  to 
me." 

The  younger  man  knew  exactly  what  she  would  say.  If 
his  father  asked  her  what  he  was  to  do,  and  when,  she  would 
simply  refer  him  to  Manstou  :  her  character  was  not  that  of 
a  woman  who  shrank  from  a  proposition  she  had  once  laid 
down.  If  his  father  were  to  say  to  her  that  his  son  had  at 
last  resolved  to  marry  his  cousin  within  the  year,  and  had 
given  her  a  promise  to  that  effect,  she  would  say,  "  Mr. 
Springrove,  the  houses  are  burnt :  we'll  let  them  go  :  trouble 
no  more  about  them." 


2o8  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

His  mind  was  already  made  up.  He  said  calmly, 
"  Father,  when  you  are  talking  to  Miss  Aldclyffe,  mention  to 
her  that  I  have  asked  Adelaide  if  she  is  willing  to  marry  me 
next  Christmas.  She  is  interested  in  my  union  with  Ade 
laide,  and  the  news  will  be  welcome  to  her." 

"  And  yet  she  can  be  iron  with  reference  to  me  and  her 
property,"  the  farmer  murmured ;  "  Very  well,  Ted,  I'll  tell 
her." 


§  6.  December  the  fifth. 

Of  the  many  contradictory  particulars  constituting  a 
woman's  heart,  two  had  shown  their  vigorous  contrast  in 
Cytherea's  bosom  just  at  this  time. 

It  was  a  dark  morning,  the  morning  after  old  Mr.  Spring, 
rove's  visit  to  Miss  Aldclyfte,  which  had  terminated  as 
Edward  had  intended.  Having  risen  an  hour  earlier  than 
was  usual  with  her,  Cytherea  sat  at  the  window  of  an  elegant 
little  sitting-room  on  the  ground  floor,  which  had  been  ap- 
propriated to  her  by  the  kindness  or  whim  of  Miss  AklclyfTe, 
that  she  might  not  be  driven  into  that  lady's  presence  against 
her  will.  She  leant  with  her  face  on  her  hand,  looking  out 
into  the  gloomy  gray  air.  A  yellow  glimmer  from  the  flap- 
])ing  flame  of  the  newly  lit  fire  fluttered  on  one  side  of  her 
face  and  neck  like  a  butterfly  about  to  settle  there,  contrast- 
ing warmly  with  the  other  side  of  the  same  fair  face,  which 
received  from  the  window  the  faint  cold  morning  light,  so 
weak  that  her  shadow  from  the  fire  had  a  distinct  outline  on 
the  window-shutter  in  spite  of  it.  There  the  shadow  danced 
like  a  demon,  blue  and  grim. 

The  contradiction  alluded  to  was  that  in  spite  of  the  de- 
cisive mood  which  two  months  earlier  in  the  year  had  caused 
her  to  write  a  peremptory  and  final  letter  to  Edward,  she 
was  now  hoping  for  some  inswer  other  than  the  only  possi- 
ble one  a  man  who,  as  sue  held,  did  not  love  her  wildly, 
could  send  to  such  a  comnamication.  For  a  lover  who  did 
love  wildly,  she  had  left  ont>  little  loophole  in  her  otherwise 
straightforward  epistle.  Why  she  expected  the  letter  on 
some  morning  of  this  particular  week  was,  that  hearing  of  his 
return  to  Carriford,  she  fondly  assumed  that  he  meant  to  ask 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  2O9 

for  an  interview  before  he  left.  Hence  it  was,  too,  that  fol 
the  last  few  days,  she  had  not  been  able  to  keep  in  bed  later 
than  the  time  of  the  postman's  arrival. 

The  clock  pointed  to  half-past  seven.  She  saw  the  post- 
man emerge  from  beneath  the  bare  boughs  of  the  park  trees, 
come  through  the  wicket,  dive  through  the  shrubbery,  reap- 
pear on  the  lawn,  stalk  across  it  without  reference  to  paths 
— as  country  postmen  do — and  come  to  the  porch.  She 
heard  him  fling  the  bag  down  on  the  seat,  and  turn  away  to- 
wards the  village,  without  hindering  himself  for  a  single 
pace. 

Then  the  butler  opened  the  door,  took  up  the  bag,  brought 
it  in,  and  carried  it  up  the  staircase  to  place  it  on  the  slab 
by  Miss  Aldclyffe's  dressing-room  door.  The  whole  pro- 
ceeding had  been  depicted  by  sounds. 

She  had  a  presentiment  that  her  letter  was  in  the  bag  at 
last.  She  thought  then  in  diminishing  pulsations  of  con- 
fidence, "  He  asks  to  see  me  !  perhaps  he  asks  to  see  me  : 
I  hope  he  asks  to  see  me." 

A  quarter  to  eight :  Miss  AldclyfTe's  bell — rather  earlier 
than  usual.  "She  must  have  heard  the  post-bag  brought," 
said  the  maiden,  as,  tired  of  the  chilly  prospect  outside,  she 
turned  to  the  fire,  and  drew  imaginative  pictures  of  her 
future  therein. 

A  tap  came  to  the  door,  and  the  lady's  maid  entered. 
"  Miss  Aldclyffe  is  awake,"  she  said  ;  "and  she  asked  if  you 
were  moving  yet,  miss." 

"  ril  run  up  to  her,"  said  Cytherea,  and  flitted  ofi^  with  the 
utterance  of  the  words.  "  Very  fortunate  this,"  she  thought ; 
"  I  shall  see  what  is  in  the  bag  this  morning  all  the  sooner." 

She  took  it  up  from  the  side  table,  went  into  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe's bedroom,  pulled  up  the  blinds,  and  looked  round 
upon  the  lady  iri  bed,  calculating  the  minutes  that  must  elapse 
before  she  looked  at  her  letters. 

"Well,  darling,  how  are  you  ?  I  am  glad  you  have  come 
in  to  see  me,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  "  You  can  unlock  the 
bag  this  morning,  child,  if  you  like,"  see  continued,  yawning 
factitiously. 

"  Strange  !  "  Cytherea  thought ;  "  it  seems  as  if  she  kne\v 
there  was  likely  to  be  a  letter  for  me." 

From  her  bed  Miss  Aldclyffe  watched  the  girl's  face  as  she 


210  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

tremblingly  opened  the  postbag  and  found  there  an  envelope 
addressed  to  her  in  Edward's  handwriting ;  one  he  had  writ 
ten  the  day  before,  after  the  decision  he  had  come  to  on  an 
impartial,  and  on  that  account  torturing,  survey  of  his  own, 
his  father's,  his  cousin  Adelaide's,  and  what  he  believed  to  be, 
Cytherea's  position. 

The  haughty  mistress's  soul  sickened  remorsefully  within 
her,  when  she  saw  suddenly  appear  upon  the  speaking  coun- 
tenance of  the  young  lady  before  her,  a  wan  desolate  look 
of  agony. 

The  master-sentences  of  Edward's  letter  were  these  :  *'  You 
speak  truly.  That  we  never  meet  again  is  the  wisest  and 
only  proper  course.  Tliat  I  regret  the  past  as  much  as  you 
do  yourseUi  it  is  hardly  necessary  for  me  to  say." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  EVENTS  OF  TEN  MONTHS. 
§  I.  December  to  April. 

WEEK  after  week,  month  after  month,  the  time  had 
flown  by.  Christmas  had  passed  :  dreary  winter  with 
dark  evenings  had  given  place  to  more  dreary  winter  with 
light  evenings.  Thaws  had  ended  in  rain,  rain  in  wind,  wind 
in  dust.  Showery  days  had  come — the  period  of  pink  dawns 
and  white  sunsets :  with  the  third  week  in  April  the  cuckoo 
had  appeared  ;  with  the  fourth,  the  nightingale. 

Edward  Springrove  was  in  London,  attending  to  the  duties 
of  his  new  olfice,  and  it  had  become  known  throughout  the 
neighborhood  of  Carriford  that  the  engagement  between  him- 
self and  Miss  Adelaide  Hinton  would  terminate  in  marriage 
at  the  end  of  the  year. 

The  only  occasion  on  which  her  lover  of  the  idle  delicious 
days  at  Creston  watering-place  had  been  seen  by  Cytherea 
after  the  time  of  decisive  correspondence,  was  once  in 
church,  when  he  sat  in  front  of  her,  and  beside  Miss  Hinton. 

The  rencontre  was  quite  an  accident.  Springrove  had 
come  there  in  the  full  belief  that  Cytherea  was  away  from 
home  with  Miss  Aldclyffe;  and  he  continued  ignorant  of  her 
presence  throughout  the  service. 

It  is  at  such  moments  as  these,  when  a  sensitive  nature 
writhes  under  the  conception  that  its  most  cherished  emo- 
tions have  been  treated  with  contumely,  that  the  sphere-de- 
cended  Maid,  Music,  friend  of  Pleasure  at  other  times,  be- 
comes a  positive  enemy — racking,  bewildering,  unrelenting. 

The  congregation  sang  the  first  Psalm  and  came  to  the 
verse, 

"Like  some  fair  tree  which,  fed  by  streams, 
With  timely  fruit  doth  bend, 
He  still  shall  flourish,  and  success 
All  his  designs  attencL" 


212  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Cytherea's  lips  did  not  move,  nor  did  any  sound  escape 
her:  but  could  she  help  singing  the  words  in  the  depths  of 
her,  although  the  man  to  whom  she  applied  them  sat  at  her 
rival's  side  ?  , 

Perhaps  the  moral  compensation  for  all  a  woman's  petty 
cleverness  under  thriving  conditions  is  the  real  nobility  that 
lies  in  her  extreme  foolishness  at  these  other  timee  :  her  sheer 
inability  to  be  simply  just,  her  exercise  of  an  illogical  power 
entirely  denied  to  men  in  general — the  power  not  only  of 
kissing,  but  of  delighting  to  kiss  the  rod  by  a  punctilious  ob- 
servance of  the  self-immolating  doctrines  in  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount. 

As  for  Edward — a  little  like  other  men  of  his  tempera- 
ment, to  whom,  it  is  somewhat  humiliating  to  think,  the 
aberrancy  of  a  given  love  is  in  itself  a  recommendation, — 
his  sentiment,  as  he  looked  over  his  cousin's  book,  was  of  a 
lower  rank,  Horatian  rather  than  Psalmodic : 

"  O  what  has  thou  of  her,  of  her 
Whose  every  look  did  love  inspire ; 
Whose  every  breathing  fanned  my  fire, 
And  stole  me  from  myself  away  ! " 

Then,  without  letting  him  see  her,  Cytherea  slipt  out  of 
church  early,  and  went  home,  the  tones  of  the  organ  still 
lingering  in  her  ears  as  she  tried  bravely  to  kill  a  jealous 
thought  that  would  nevertheless  live :  "  My  nature  is  one 
capable  of  more,  far  more,  intense  feeling  than  hers  !  She 
can't  ai)preciate  all  the  sides  of  him — she  never  will !  He 
is  more  tangible  to  me  even  now,  as  a  thought,  than  his  pres- 
ence itself  is  to  her!"     She  was  less  noble  then. 

But  she  continually  repressed  her  misery  and  bitterness  of 
heart  till  the  effort  to  do  so  showed  signs  of  lessening.  At 
length  she  even  tried  to  hope  that  her  lost  lover  and  her 
rival  would  love  one  another  very  dearly. 

The  scene  and  the  sentiment  dropped  into  the  past. 
Meanwhile,  Manston  continued  visibly  before  her.  He, 
though  quiet  and  subdued  in  his  bearing  for  a  long  time  after 
the  calamity  of  November,  had  not  simulated  a  grief  that  he 
did  not  feel.  At  first  his  loss  seemed  so  to  absorb  him — ■ 
though  as  a  startling  change  rather  than  as  a  heavy  sorrow — • 
that  he  paid  Cytherea  no  attention  whatever.     His  conduct 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


213 


was  uniformly  kind  and  respectful,  but  little  more.  Then, 
as  the  date  of  the  catastrophe  grew  remoter,  he  began  to 
wear  a  different  aspect  towards  her.  He  always  contrived 
to  obliterate  by  his  manner  all  recollection  on  her  side  thai 
she  was  comparatively  more  dependent  than  himself — mak 
ing  much  of  her  womanhood,  nothing  of  her  situation 
Prompt  to  aid  her  whenever  occasion  offered,  and  full  of  de- 
lightful/^'///j-  soins  at  all  times,  he  was  not  officious.  In  this 
way  he  irresistibly  won  for  himself  a  position  as  her  friend, 
and  the  more  easily,  in  that  he  allowed  not  the  faintest  symp- 
tom of  the  old  love  to  be  apparent. 

Matters  stood  thus  in  the  middle  of  the  spring,  when  the 
next  move  on  his  behalf  was  made  by  Miss  Aldclyffe 


§  2.   The  third  of  May. 

She  led  Cytherea  to  a  summer-house  called  the  Fane, 
built  in  the  private  grounds  about  the  mansion  in  the  form 
of  a  Grecian  temple  :  it  overlooked  the  lake,  the  island  on 
it,  the  trees,  and  their  undisturbed  reflection  in  the  smooth 
still  water.  Here  the  old  and  young  maid  halted  :  here  they 
-stood,  side  by  side,  mentally  imbibing  the  scene. 

The  month  was  May — the  time,  morning.  Cuckoos, 
thrushes,  blackbirds,  and  sparrovvs  gave  forth  a  perfect  con- 
fusion of  song  and  twitter.  The  road  was  spotted  white 
with  the  fallen  leaves  of  apple-blossoms,  and  the  sparkling 
gray  dew  still  lingered  on  the  grass  and  flowers. 

Two  swans  floated  into  view  in  front  of  the  women,  and 
then  crossed  the  water  towards  them, 

"  They  seem  to  come  to  us  without  any  will  of  their  own 
— quite  involuntarily — don't  they  ?"  said  Cytherea,  looking 
at  the  birds'  graceful  advance. 

''  Yes,  but  if  you  look  narrowly  you  can  see  their  hips 
just  beneath  the  water,  working  with  the  greatest  energy." 

"I'd  rather  not  see  that,  it  spoils  the  idea  of  proud 
indifference  to  direction  which  we  associate  with  a  swan." 

"  It  does ;  we'll  have  '  involuntarily.'  Ah,  now  this  rs« 
minds  me  of  something." 

"  Of  what  ?  " 


214  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  Of  a  human  being  who  involuntarily  comes  towards 
yourself." 

Cytherea  looked  into  Miss  Aldclyfife's  face  ;  her  eyes  grew 
round  as  circles,  and  lines  of  wonderment  came  visibly  upon 
her  countenance.  She  had  not  once  regarded  Manstonasa 
lover  since  his  wife's  sudden  appearance  and  subsequent 
death.  The  death  of  a  wife,  and  such  a  death,  was  an  over- 
whelming matter  in  her  ideas  of  things. 

"  Is  it  a  man  or  woman  ?  "  she  said,  quite  innocently. 

"  Mr.  Manston,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  quietly. 

"Mr.  Manston  attracted  by  me  now]"  said  Cytherea, 
standing  at  gaze. 

"  Didn't  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  did  not.  Why,  his  poor  wife  has  only  been 
dead  six  months." 

"  Of  course  he  knows  that.  But  loving  is  not  done  by 
months,  or  method,  or  rule,  or  nobody  would  ever  have  in- 
vented such  a  phrase  as  '  falling  in  love.'  He  does  not  want 
his  love  to  be  observed  just  yet,  on  the  very  account  you  men- 
tion ;  but  conceal  it  as  he  may  from  himself  and  us,  if  exists 
definitely — and  very  intensely,  I  assure  you." 

"I  suppose  then,  that  if  he  can't  help  it,  it  is  no  harm  of 
him,"  said  Cytherea,  naively,  and  beginning  to  ponder. 

"Of  course  it  isn't — you  know  that  well  enough.  She 
was  a  great  burden  and  trouble  to  him.  This  may  become 
a  great  good  to  you  both." 

A  rush  of  feeling  at  remembering  that  the  same  woman, 
before  Manston's  arrival,  had  just  as  frankly  advocated 
Edward's  claims,  checked  Cytherea's  utterance  for  awhile. 

"  There,  don't  look  at  me  like  that,  for  Heaven's  sake  !  " 
said  Miss  Aldclyfte.  "  You  could  almost  kill  a  i)erson  by 
the  force  of  reproach  you  can  )Dut  into  those  eyes  of  yours, 
I  verily  believe." 

Edward  once  in  the  young  lady's  thoughts,  there  was  no 
getting  rid  of  him.     She  wanted  to  be  alone. 

"  Do  you  want  me  here  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Now  there,  there;  you  want  to  be  off,  and  have  a  good 
cry,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  taking  her  hand.  "  But  you  mustn't, 
my  dear.  There's  nothing  in  the  past  for  you  to  regret. 
Compare  Mr.  Manston's  honorable  conduct  towards  his  wife 
and  yourself,  widi  Springrove's  towards  his   belrothed    and 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  215 

yourself,  and  then  see  which  appears  the   more  worthy  of 
your  thoughts." 

§    3.  From  the  fourth  of  May  to  the  twenty -first  of  June. 

The  next  stage  in  Mansion's  advances  towards  her  hand 
was  a  clearly  defined  courtship.  She  was  sadly  ])erplexed, 
and  some  contrivance  was  necessary  on  his  part  in  order  to 
meet  with  her.  But  it  is  next  to  impossible  for  an  apprecia- 
tive woman  to  have  a  positive  repugnance  towards  an  un- 
usually handsome  and  talented  man,  even  though  she  may 
not  be  inclined  to  love  him.  Hence  Cytherea  was  not  so 
alarmed  at  the  sight  of  him  as  to  render  a  meeting  and  con- 
versation with  her  more  than  a  matter  of  difficulty. 

Coming  and  going  from  church  was  his  grand  opportunity. 
Mansion  was  very  religious  now.  It  is  commonly  said  that 
no  man  was  ever  converted  by  argument,  but  there  is  a 
single  one  which  will  make  any  Laodicean  in  England,  let 
him  be  once  love-sick,  wear  prayer-books  and  become  a 
zealous  Episcopalian— the  argument  that  his  sweetheart  can 
be  seen  from  his  pew. 

Mansion  introduced  into  his  method  a  system  of  bewitch- 
ing flattery;  everywhere  pervasive,  yet  too,  so  transitory  and 
intangible,  that,  as  in  the  case  of  the  poet  Wordsworth  and 
the  Wandering  Voice,  though  she  felt  it  present,  she  could 
never  find  it.  As  a  foil  to  heighten  its  effect,  he  occasionally 
spoke  philosophically  of  the  evanescence  of  female  beauty 
— the  worthlessness  of  mere  appearance.  "Handsome  is 
that  handsome  does  "  he  considered  a  proverb  which  should 
be  written  on  the  looking-glass  of  every  woman  in  the  land. 
"  Your  form,  your  motions,  your  heart  have  won  me,"  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  playful  sadness.  "  They  are  beautiful. 
But  I  see  these  things,  and  it  comes  into  my  mind  that  they 
are  doomed,  they  are  gliding  to  nothing  as  I  look.  Poor 
eyes,  pour  mouth,  poor  face,  poor  maiden  !  '  Where  will  her 
glories  be  in  twenty  years,'  I  say.  '  Where  will  all  of  her  be 
in  a  hundred?'  Then  I  think  it  is  cruel  that  you  should 
bloom  a  day,  and  fade  for  ever  and  ever.  It  seems  hard 
and  sad  that  you  will  die,  as  ordinarily  as  I,  and  be  buried  ; 
be  food  for  roots  and  worms,  be  forgotten  and  come  to  aartli, 


2i6  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

and  grow  up  a  mere  blade  of  churchyard  grass  and  an  ivy 
leaf.  Then,  Miss  Graye,  when  I  see  you  are  a  Lovely 
Nothing,  1  pity  you,  and  the  love  I  feel  then  is  better  anc' 
sounder,  larger,  and  more  lasting-  than  that  I  felt  at  the 
beginning."     Again  an  ardent  flash  of  his  handsome  eyes. 

It  was  by  this  route  that  he  ventured  on  an  indirect  dec- 
laration and  offer  of  his  hand. 

She  implied  in  the  same  indirect  manner  that  she  did  not 
love  him  enough  to  accept  it. 

An  actual  refusal  was  more  than  he  had  expected.  Cursing 
himself  for  what  he  called  his  egregious  folly  in  making  him- 
self the  slave  of  a  mere  lady's  attendant,  and  for  having 
given  the  parish,  should  they  know  of  her  refusal,  a  chance 
of  sneering  at  him — certainly  a  ground  for  thinking  less  of 
his  standing  than  before— he  went  home  to  the  Old  House, 
and  walked  indecisively  up  and  down  his  back  yard.  Turn- 
ing aside,  he  leant  his  arms  upon  the  edge  of  the  rain-water 
butt  standing  in  the  corner,  and  looked  into  it.  The  reflec- 
tion from  the  smooth  stagnant  surface  tinged  his  face  with 
the  greenish  shades  of  Correggio's  nudes.  Staves  of  sun- 
light slanted  down  through  the  still  pool,  lighting  it  up  with 
wonderful  distinctness.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  minute 
living  creatures  sported  and  tumbled  in  its  depths  with  every 
contortion  that  gayety  could  suggest ;  perfectly  happy, 
though  consisting  only  of  a  head,  or  a  tail,  or  at  most  ahead 
and  a  tail,  and  all  doomed  to  die  within  the  twenty-four 
hours. 

"  D — n  my  position  !  Why  shouldn't  I  be  happy  through 
my  little  day  too  ?  Let  the  parish  sneer  at  my  repulses,  let 
it.     I'll  get  her,  if  I  move  heaven  and  earth  to  do  it  1 " 

Lideed,  the  inexperienced  Cytherea  had,  towards  Edward 
in  the  first  i)lace,  and  Manston  afterwards,  unconsciously 
adopted  bearings  that  would  have  been  the  very  tactics  of  a 
professional  fisher  of  men  who  wished  to  have  them  each 
successively  dangling  at  her  heels.  For  if  any  rule  at  all 
can  be  laid  down  in  a  matter  which,  for  men  collectively,  is 
notoriously  beyond  regulation,  it  is  that  to  snub  a  petted 
man,  and  to  pet  a  snubbed  man,  is  the  way  to  win  in  suits 
of  both  kinds.  Manston  with  Springrove's  encouragement 
would  have  become  indifferent.  Edward  with  Manston's  re- 
pulses would  have  sheered  off  at  the  outset,  as  he  did  after 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


217 


wards.  Her  supreme  indifference  added  fuel  to  Mansion's 
ardor — it  completely  disarmed  his  pride.  The  invulnera- 
ble Nobody  seemed  greater  to  him  than  a  susceptible  Prin- 
cess. 


§  4.  From  the  twenty-first  of  June  to  the  end  of  July. 

Cytherea  had  in  the  meantime  received  the  following  let- 
ter from  her  brother.  It  was  the  first  definite  notification  of 
the  enlargement  of  that  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand 
which  had  for  nearly  j^  twelvemonth  hung  before  them  in  the 
distance,  and  which  was  soon  to  give  a  color  to  their  whole 
sky  from  horizon  to  horizon. 

"Creston,     Saturday. 

"  Darling  Sis, 

"  1  have  delayed  telling  you  for  a  long  time  of  a  lit- 
tle matter  which  though  not  one  to  be  seriously  alarmed 
about,  is  sufficiently  vexing,  and  it  would  be  unfair  in  me  to 
keep  it  from  you  any  longer.  It  is  that  for  some  time  past 
I  have  again  been  distressed  by  that  lameness  which  I  first 
distinctly  felt  when  we  went  to  Lewborne  Bay,  and  again 
when  I  left  Knapwater  that  morning  early.  It  is  an  unusual 
pain  in  my  left  leg,  between  the  knee  and  the  ankle.  I  had 
just  found  fresh  syniptoms  of  it  when  you  were  here  for  that 
half-hour  about  a  month  ago — when  you  said  in  fun  that  I 
began  to  move  like  an  old  man.  I  had  a  good  mind  to  tell 
you  then,  but  fancying  it  would  go  off  in  a  few  days,  I 
thought  it  was  not  worth  while.  Since  that  time  it  has  in- 
creased, but  1  am  still  able  to  work  in  the  office,  sitting  on 
the  stool.  My  great  fear  is  that  Mr.  G.  will  have  some  out- 
door measuring  work  for  me  to  do  soon,  and  that  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  decline.  However,  we  will  hope  for  the  best. 
How  it  came,  what  was  its  origin,  or  what  it  tends  to,  I  can- 
not think.     You  shall  hear  again  in  a  day  or  two,  if  it  is  no 

better 

"  Your  loving  brother, 

"  Owen.' 

This  she  answered,  begging  to  know  the  worst,  which  she 
10 


2i8  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

could  bear,  but  suspense  and  anxiety  never.  In  two  dayj 
came  another  letter  from  him,  of  which  the  subjoined  para- 
graph is  a  portion. 

"  I  had  quite  decided  to  let  you  know  the  worst,  and  to 
assure  you  that  it  was  the  worst,  before  you  wrote  to  ask  it. 
And  again  I  give  you  my  word  that  I  will  conceal  nothing — 
so  that  there  will  be  no  excuse  whatever  for  your  wearing 
yourself  out  with  fears  that  I  am  worse  than  1  say.  This 
morning  then,  for  the  first  time,  I  have  been  obliged  to  stay 
away  from  the  office.  Don't  be  frightened  at  this,  deai 
Cytherea.  Rest  is  all  that  is  wanted,  and  by  nursing  myself 
now  for  a  week,  I  may  avoid  a  sickness  of  six  months." 

After  a  visit  from  her  he  wrote  agam, 

"  Dr.  Chestman  has  seen  me.  He  said  that  the  ailment 
was  some  sort  of  rheumatism,  and  I  am  now  undergoing 
proper  treatment  for  its  cure.  My  leg  and  foot  have  been 
placed  in  hot  bran,  liniments  have  been  applied,  and  also 
severe  friction  with  a  pad.  He  says  I  shall  be  as  right  as 
ever  in  a  very  short  time.  Directly  I  am  I  shall  run  up  by 
the  train  to  see  you.  Don't  trouble  to  come  to  me  if  Miss 
Aldclyffe  grumbles  again  about  your  being  away,  for  I  am 

going  on  capitally You  shall  hear  again  at  the  end 

of  the  week." 

At  this  time  mentioned  came  the  following  : 

"  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  because  I  know  it  will  be  so  dis- 
heartening after  my  last  letter,  that  I  am  not  so  well  as  I  was 
then,  and  that  there  has  been  a  sort  of  hitch  in  the  proceed- 
ings. After  I  had  been  treated  for  rheumatism  a  few  days 
longer  (in  which  treatment  they  pricked  the  place  with  a 
long  needle  several  times),  I  saw  that  Dr.  Chestman  was  in 
doubt  about  something,  and  I  requested  that  he  would  call 
in  a  brother  professional  man  to  see  me  as  well.  They  con- 
sulted together  and  then  told  me  that  rheumatism  was  not 
the  disease  after  all,  but  erysipelas.  They  then  began  treat- 
ing it  differently,  as  became  a  different  matter.  Blisters, 
flour,  and  starch  seem  to  be  the  order  of  the  day  now — 
medicine,  of  course,  besides. 

"  Mr.  Gradfield  has  been  in  to  inquire  about  me.  He 
says  he  has  been  obliged  to  get  a  clerk  in  my  place,  which 
grieves  me  very  much,  though,  of  course,  it  could  not  be 
avoided." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  2I9 

A  month  passed  away ;  throughout  this  period,  Cytherea 
visited  him  as  often  as  the  hmited  time  at  her  command 
would  allow,  and  wore  as  cheerful  a  countenance  as  the 
womanly  determination  to  do  nothing  which  might  depress 
him  could  enable  her  to  wear.  Another  letter  from  him  thja 
told  her  these  additional  facts. 

"The  doctors  find  they  are  again  on  the  wrong  tack. 
They  cannot  make  out  what  the  disease  is.  O  Cytherea  ! 
how  I  wish  they  knew !  This  suspense  is  wearing  me  out. 
Could  not  Miss  Aldclyffe  spare  you  for  a  day  ?  Do  come 
to  me.  We  will  talk  about  the  best  course  then.  I  am  sorry 
to  complain,  but  I  am  worn  out." 

Cytherea  went  to  Miss  Aldclyffe,  and  told  her  of  the  mel- 
ancholy turn  her  brother's  illness  had  taken.  Miss  Aldclyffe 
at  once  said  that  Cytherea  might  go,  and  offered  to  do  any- 
thing to  assist  her  which  lay  in  her  power.  Cytherea's  eyes 
beamed  gratitude  as  she  turned  to  leave  the  room,  and  hasten 
to  the  station. 

"Oh,  Cytherea,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  calling  her  back; 
"just  one  word.     Has  Mr.  Manston  spoken  to  you  lately?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Cytherea,  blushing  timorously. 

"  He  proposed  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  refused  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Tut,  tut !  Now  listen  to  my  advice,"  said  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe, emphatically,  "  and  accept  him  before  he  changes  his 
mind.  The  chance  which  he  offers  you  of  settling  in  life  is 
one  that  may  possibly,  probably,  not  occur  again.  His  po- 
sition is  good  and  secure,  and  the  life  of  his  wife  would  be  a 
happy  one.  You  may  not  be  sure  that  you  love  him  madly  ; 
but  suppose  you  are  not  sure  ?  My  father  used  to  say  to 
nie  as  a  child  when  he  was  teaching  me  whist,  'When  in 
doubt  win  the  trick  ! '  That  advice  is  ten  times  as  valuable 
to  a  woman  on  the  subject  of  matrimony.  In  refusing  a 
man  there  is  always  the  risk  that  you  may  never  get  another 
offer." 

"Why  didn't  you  win  the  trick  when  you  were  a  girl  ?  " 
said  Cytherea. 

"Come,  my  lady  Pert;  I'm  not  the  text,"  said  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  her  face  glowing  like  fire. 


220  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Cytherea  laughed  stealthily. 

"  I  was  about  to  say,"  resumed  Miss  AldclyfFe,  severely, 
"that  here  is  Mr.  Mansion  waiting  with  the  tenderest  sohci- 
tude  for  you,  and  you  overlooking  it,  as  if  it  were  aUogcther 
beneath  you.  Think  how  you  might  benefit  your  sick 
brother  if  you  were  Mrs.  Manston.  You  will  please  me 
very  much  by  giving  him  some  encouragement.  You  under- 
;j^nd  me,  dear?" 

Cytherea  was  silent. 

"And,"  said  Miss  Aldclyflfe  still  more  emphatically,  "on 
your  promising  that  you  will  accept  him  some  time  this  year, 
I  will  take  especial  care  of  your  brother.  You  are  listening, 
Cytherea  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered,  leaving  the  room. 

She  went  to  Creston,  and  passed  the  day  with  her  brother, 
and  returned  to  Knapwater  wretched  and  full  of  forebod- 
ing. Owen  had  looked  startlingly  thin  and  pale — thinner 
and  paler  than  ever  she  had  seen  him  before.  The  brother 
and  sister  had  that  day  decided  that,  notwithstanding  the 
drain  upon  their  slender  resources  another  medical  man 
should  see  him.     Time  was  everything 

Owen  told  her  the  result  in  his  next  letter. 

"  The  three  ))ractitioners  between  them  have  at  last  hit  the 
nail  on  the  head,  I  hoi)e.  They  probed  the  place  and  dis- 
covered that  the  secret  lay  in  the  bone.  I  underwent  an  ope- 
ration for  its  removal  three  days  ago  (aft^jr  taking  chloroform) 
.  .  .  Thank  God  it  is  over.  Though  I  am  so  weak,  my 
spirits  are  rather  better.  I  wonder  when  I  shall  be  at  work 
again  ?  I  asked  the  doctors  how  long  it  would  be  first.  I  said 
a  month  ?  They  shook  their  heads.  A  year?  I  said.  Not 
so  long,  they  said.  Six  months  ?  I  inquired.  They  would 
not,  or  could  not  tell  me.     But  never  mind. 

"  Run  down,  when  you  have  half  a  day  to  spare,  for  the 
hours  drag  on  so  drearily.  O  Cytherea,  you  can't  think  how 
drearily  !  " 

She  went.  Immediately  on  her  departure,  Miss  Aldclyflfe 
sent  a  note  to  the  Old  House,  to  Manston.  On  the  maiden's 
return,  tired  and  sick  at  heart  as  usual,  she  found  Manston 
at  the  station  awaiting  her.  He  asked  politely  if  he  might 
accompany  her  to  Knapwater.  She  tacitly  acquiesced. 
During  their  walk  he  inquired  the  particulars  of  her  bi other  % 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  221 

illness,  and  with  an  irresistible  desire  to  pour  out  her  trouble 
to  some  one,  she  told  him  of  the  length  of  time  which  must 
elai)se  before  he  could  be  strong  again,  and  of  the  lack  of 
comfort  in  a  lodging-house. 

Manston  was  silent  awhile.  Then  he  said  impetuously : 
"  Miss  Graye,  I  will  not  mince  matters — I  love  you — you 
know  it.  Stratagem  they  say  is  fair  in  love,  and  I  am  com- 
pelled to  adopt  it  now.  Forgive  me,  for  I  cannot  help  it. 
Consent  to  be  my  wife  at  any  time  that  may  suit  you,  any 
remote  day  you  may  name  will  satisfy  me — and  you  shall 
find  him  well  provided  for." 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  truly  dreaded  the  hand- 
some man  at  her  side  who  pleaded  thus  selfishly,  and  shrank 
from  the  hot  voluptuous  nature  of  his  passion  for  her,  which, 
disguise  it  as  he  might  under  a  quiet  and  polished  exterior, 
at  times  radiated  forth  with  a  scorching  white  heat.  She 
perceived  how  animal  was  the  love  which  bargained. 

"  1  do  not  love  you,  Mr.  Manston,"  she  replied  coldly. 


§  5.  From  the  first  to  the  twenty-seventh  of  August. 

The  long  sunny  days  of  the  later  summer-time  brought 
only  the  same  dreary  accounts  from  Creston,  and  saw  Cy- 
therea  paying  the  same  sad  visits. 

She  grew  perceptibly  weaker,  in  body  and  in  mind.  Man- 
ston still  persisted  in  his  suit,  but  with  more  of  his  former  indi- 
rectness, now  that  he  saw  how  unexpectedly  well  she  stood 
an  open  attack.  His  was  the  system  of  Dares  at  the  Sicilian 
games  : — • 

"  He,  like  a  captain  who  beleaguers  round 
Some  strong-built  castle  on  a  rising  ground, 
Views  all  the  approaches  with  observing  eyes, 
This  and  that  other  part  again  he  tries, 
And  more  on  industry  than  force  relies." 

Miss  AldclyfTe  made  it  appear  more  clearly  than  ever  that 
aid  to  Owen  from  herself  depended  entirely  upon  Cytherea's 
acceptance  of  her  steward.  Hemmed  in,  t^nd  distressed, 
Cytherea's  answers  to  his  importunities  grew  less  uniform  ; 
they  were  firm,  or  wavering,  as  Owen's  malady  fluctuatecj. 


222  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Had  a  register  of  her  pitiful  oscillations  been  kept,  it  would 
have  rivalled  in  pathos  the  diary  wherein  De  Quincey  tab- 
ulates his  combat  with  Opium — perhaps  as  noticeable  an 
instance  as  any  in  which  a  thrilling  dramatic  power  has  been 
given  to  mere  numerals  Thus  she  wearily  and  monoto- 
nously lived  through  the  month,  listening  on  Sundays  to  the 
well-known  round  of  chapters  narrating  the  history  of  Elijah 
and  Elisha  in  famine  and  drought :  on  week  days  to  buzzing 
flies  in  hot  sunny  rooms.  "  So  like,  so  very  like,  was  day  to 
day."  Extreme  lassitude  seemed  all  that  the  world  could 
show  her. 

Her  state  was  in  this  wise,  when  one  afternoon,  having 
been  with  her  brother,  she  met  the  surgeon,  and  begged  him 
to  tell  the  actual  truth  concerning  Owen's  condition. 

The  reply  was  that  he  feared  that  the  first  operation  had 
not  been  thorough  :  that  although  the  wound  had  healed, 
anotlier  attempt  might  still  be  necessary,  unless  Nature  were 
left  to  eflfect  her  own  cure.  But  the  time  such  a  self-healing 
proceeding  would  occupy  might  be  ruinous. 

"  How  long  would  it  be  ?  "  she  said. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  say.     A  year  or  two,  more  or  less." 

"  And  suppose  he  submitted  to  another  artificial  extrac- 
tion ?  " 

"  Then  he  might  be  well  in  four  or  six  months." 

Now  the  reinainder  of  his  and  her  possessions,  together 
with  a  sum  he  had  borrowed,  would  not  provide  him  with 
necessary  comforts  for  half  that  time.  To  combat  the  mis- 
fortune, there  were  two  courses  open  :  her  becoming  be- 
trothed to  Manston,  or  the  sending  Owen  to  the  County 
Hospital. 

Thus  terrified,  driven  into  a  comer,  panting  and  fluttering 
about  for  some  loophole  of  escape,  yet  still  shrinking  from 
the  idea  of  being  Manston's  wife,  the  poor  little  bird  en- 
deavored to  find  out  from  Miss  Aldclyffe  whether  it  was 
likely  Owen  would  be  well  treated  in  the  hospital. 

"  County  Hospital !  "  said  Miss  Aldclyfle,  "  why,  it  is  only 
another  name  for  Slaughter  House — in  surgical  cases  at  any 
rate.  Certainly  if  anything  about  your  body  is  snapped  in  two 
they  do  join  you  together  in  a  fashion,  but  'tis  so  askew  and 
ugly,  that  you  may  as  well  be  apart  again."  Then  she  ter- 
rified the  inquiring  and  anxious  maiden  b}  relating  horrid 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


223 


Stories  of  how  the  legs  and  arms  of  poor  people  were  cut 
otf  at  a  moment's  notice,  especially  in  cases  where  the  re- 
storative treatment  was  likely  to  be  long  and  tedious. 

"You  know  how  willing  I  am  to  help  you,  Cytherea,"  she 
added,  reproachfully.  "  You  know  it.  Why  are  you  so 
obstinate  then  ?  Why  do  you  selfishly  bar  the  clear,  honor- 
able, and  only  sisterly  path  which  leads  out  of  this  diffi- 
culty? I  cannot,  on  my  conscience,  countenance  you:  no, 
I  cannot." 

Manston  once  more  repeated  his  offer ;  and  once  more 
she  refused,  but  this  time  weakly,  and  with  signs  of  an  inter- 
nal struggle.  Manston's  eye  sparkled :  what  Lavater  calls 
the  boundary  line  between  affection  and  ai)petite,  never 
very  distinct  in  him,  was  visibly  obliterated.  Moreover  he 
saw  for  the  hundredth  time  in  his  life,  that  perseverance,  if 
only  systematic,  was  irresistible  by  womankind. 


§  6.   The  twenty-seventh  of  August. 

On  going  to  Creston  three  days  later,  she  found  to  her 
surprise  that  the  steward  had  been  there,  had  introduced 
himself,  and  had  seen  her  brother.  A  few  delicacies  had 
been  brought  him  also  by  the  same  hand.  Owen  spoke  in 
warm  terms  of  Manston  and  his  free  and  unceremonious 
call,  as  he  could  not  have  refrained  from  doing  of  any  per- 
son, of  any  kind,  whose  presence  had  served  to  help  away 
the  tedious  hours  of  a  long  day,  and  who  had,  moreover, 
shown  that  sort  of  consideration  for  him  which  the  accom- 
panying basket  implied — antecedent  consideration,  so  telling 
upon  all  invalids— and  wliich  he  so  seldom  experienced  ex- 
cept from  the  hands  of  his  sister. 

How  should  he  perceive,  amid  this  tithe-paying  of  mint, 
and  anise,  and  cunuiiin,  the  weightier  matters  which  were 
left  undone  ? 

Again  the  steward  met  her  at  Carriford  Road  Station  on 
her  return  journey.  Instead  of  being  frigid  as  at  the  former 
meeting  at  the  same  place,  she  was  embarrassed  by  a  strife 
of  thought,  and  murmured  brokenly  her  thanks  for  what  he 
had  done.  The  same  request  tha',  he  might  see  her  home 
was  made. 


224  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

He  had  perceived  his  error  in  making  his  kindness  to 
Owen  a  conditional  kindness,  and  had  hastened  to  efface  all 
recollection  of  it.  "Though  I  let  my  offer  on  her  brother's 
— my  friend's — behalf  seem  dependent  on  my  lady's  gra- 
ciousness  to  me,"  he  whispered  wooingly  in  the  course  of 
their  walk,  "  I  could  not  conscientiously  adhere  to  my  state- 
ment ;  it  was  said  with  all  the  impulsive  selfishness  of  love. 
Whether  you  choose  to  have  me,  or  whether  you  don't,  I 
love  you  too  devotedly  to  be  anything  but  kind  to  your 
brother  ....  Miss  Graye — Cytherea,  1  will  do  any- 
thing," he  continued  earnestly,  "  to  give  you  pleasure — in- 
deed I  will." 

She  saw  on  the  one  hand  her  poor  and  much-loved  Owen 
recovering  from  his  illness  and  troubles  by  the  disinterested 
kindness  of  the  man  beside  her ;  on  the  other  she  drew  him 
dying,  wholly  by  reason  of  her  self  enforced  poverty.  To 
marry  this  man  was  obviously  the  course  of  common-sense, 
to  refuse  him  was  impolitic  temerity.  There  was  reason  in 
this.  But  there  was  more  behind  than  a  iiundred  reasons — ■ 
a  woman's  gratitude  and  her  imj^ulse  to  be  kind. 

The  wavering  of  her  mind  was  visible  in  her  tell-tale  face. 
He  noticed  it,  and  caught  at  the  opportunity. 

They  were  standing  by  the  ruinous  foundations  of  an  old 
mill  in  the  midst  of  a  meadow.  Between  gray  and  half- 
overgrown  stonework — the  only  signs  of  masonry  remaining 
— the  water  gurgled  down  from  the  old  mill-pond  to  a  lower 
level,  under  the  cloak  of  rank  broad  leaves — the  sensuous 
natures  of  the  vegetable  world.  On  the  right  hand  the  sun, 
resting  on  the  horizon-line,  streamed  across  the  ground  from 
below  copper-colored  and  lilac  clouds,  stretched  out  in  flats 
beneath  a  sky  of  pale  soft  green.  All  dark  objects  on  the 
earth  that  lay  towards  the  sun  were  overspread  by  a  purple 
haze,  against  which  a  swarm  of  wailing  gnats  shone  forth 
luminously,  rising  upward  and  floating  away  like  sparks  of 
fire. 

The  stillness  oppressed  and  reduced  her  to  mere  passivity. 
The  only  wish  the  humidity  of  the  ])lace  left  in  her  was  to 
stand  motionless.  The  hel|)less  flatness  of  the  landscape 
gave  her,  as  it  gives  all  such  temperaments,  a  sense  of  bare 
equality  with,  and  no  superiority  to,  a  single  entity  undei 
the  sky. 


DESPERA  TE  REMEDIES. 


225 


He  came  so  close  that  their  clothes  touched.  "  Will  you 
try  to  love  me  ?  Do  try  to  love  me  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  whis- 
l)er,  taking  her  hand.  He  had  never  taken  it  before.  She 
could  feel  his  hand  trembling  exceedingly  as  it  held  hers  in 
its  clasp. 

Considering  his  kindness  to  her  brother,  his  love  for  her- 
self, and  Edward's  fickleness,  ought  she  to  forbid  him  to  do 
this?  How  truly  pitiful  it  was  to  feel  his  hand  tremble  so — ■ 
all  for  her  !  Should  she  withdraw  her  hand  ?  She  would 
think  whether  she  would.  Thinking  and  hesitating,  she 
looked  as  far  as  the  autumnal  haze  on  the  marsliy  ground 
would  allow  her  to  see  distinctly.  There  was  the  fragment 
of  a  hedge — all  that  remained  of  a  wet  old  garden — standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  mead,  without  a  definite  beginning  or 
ending,  purposeless  and  valueless.  It  was  overgrown,  and 
choked  with  mandrakes,  and  she  could  almost  fancy  she 
heard  their  shrieks  ....  Should  she  withdraw  her  hand  ? 
No,  she  could  not  withdraw  it  now  ;  it  was  too  late,  the  act 
would  not  imply  refusal.  She  felt  as  one  in  a  boat  without 
oars,  drifting  with  closed  eyes  down  a  river — she  knew  not 
whither. 

He  gave  her  hand  a  gentle  pressure,  and  relinquished  it. 

Then  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  coming  to  the  point  again. 
No,  he  was  not  going  to  urge  his  suit  that  evening. 
Another  respite 


§  7.  TJie  early  part  of  September. 

Saturday  came,  and  she  went  on  some  trivial  errand  to  the 
village  post-office.  It  was  a  little  gray  cottage  with  a  luxu- 
riant jasmine  encircling  the  doorway,  and  before  going  in 
Cytherea  paused  to  admire  this  pleasing  feature  of  the  ex- 
terior. Hearing  a  step  on  the  gravel  behind  the  corner  of 
the  house,  she  resigned  the  jasmine  and  entered.  Nobody 
was  in  the  room.  She  could  hear  Mrs.  Leat,  the  widow  who 
acted  as  post-mistress,  walking  about  over  her  head.  Cy- 
therea was  going  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  call  Mrs.  Leat, 
but  before  she  had  accomplished  her  object  another  form 
stood  at  the  half-open  door.     Mansion  came  in. 

"  Both  on  the  same  errand,"  he  said,  gracefully. 
10* 


226  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  I  will  call  her,"  said  Cytherea,  moving  in  haste  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs. 

"One  moment."  He  glided  to  her  side.  "Don't  call 
her  for  a  moment,"  he  repeated. 

But  she  had  said,  "Mrs.  Leat  I" 

He  seized  Cytherea's  hand,  kissed  it  tenderly,  and  care- 
fully replaced  it  by  her  side. 

She  had  that  morning  determined  to  check  his  farther  ad- 
vances until  she  had  thoroughly  considered  her  position. 
The  remonstrance  was  now  on  her  tongue,  but  as  accident 
would  have  it,  before  the  word  could  be  spoken  Mrs.  Leat 
was  stepping  from  the  last  stair  to  the  floor,  and  no  remon- 
strance came. 

With  the  subtlety  which  characterized  him  in  all  his  deal- 
ings with  her,  he  quickly  concluded  his  own  errand,  bade 
her  a  good-by,  in  the  tones  of  which  love  was  so  garnished 
with  pure  politeness  that  it  only  showed  its  presence  to  her- 
self, and  left  the  house — putting  it  out  of  her  power  to  re- 
fuse him  her  companionship  homeward,  or  to  object  to  his 
late  action  of  kissing  her  hand. 

The  P'riday  of  the  next  week  brought  another  letter  from 
her  brother.  In  this  he  informed  her  that,  in  absolute  grief 
lest  he  should  distress  her  unnecessarily,  he  had  some  time 
earlier  borrowed  a  few  pounds.  A  week  ago,  he  said,  his 
creditor  became  importunate,  but  that  on  the  day  on  which 
he  wrote,  the  creditor  had  told  him  there  was  no  hurry  for  a 
settlement,  that  "his  sister's  suitor  had  guaranteed  the  sum." 
"  Is  he  Mr.  Manston  ?  tell  me,  Cytherea,"  said  Owen. 

He  also  mentioned  that  a  wheeled  chair  had  been  anony- 
mously hired  for  his  especial  use,  though  as  yet  he  was 
hardly  far  enough  advanced  towards  convalescence  to  avail 
himself  of  the  luxury.  "Is  this  Mr.  Manston's  doing?"  he 
inquired. 

She  could  dally  with  her  perplexity,  evade  it,  trust  to 
time  for  guidance,  no  longer.  I'he  matter  had  come  to  a 
crisis  :  she  must  once  and  for  all  choose  between  the  dic- 
tates of  her  understanding  and  those  of  her  heart.  She 
longed,  till  her  soul  seemed  nigh  to  burstmg,  for  her  lost 
mother's  return  to  earth,  but  for  one  minute,  that  she  might 
have  tender  counsel  to  guide  her  through  this,  her  great 
difficulty. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


227 


As  for  her  heart,  she  half- fancied  that  it  was  not  Edward's 
to  quite  the  extent  that  it  once  had  been  ;  she  thought  him 
cruel  in  conducting  himself  towards  her  as  he  did  at  Cres- 
ton,  cruel  afterwards  in  making  so  lightly  of  her.  She  knew 
he  had  stifled  his  love  for  her — was  utterly  lost  to  her.  But 
for  all  that  she  could  not  help  indulging  in  a  woman's  ])leas- 
iire  of  recreating  defunct  agonies,  and  lacerating  herself  with 
them  now  and  then. 

"  If  I  were  rich,"  she  thought,  "  I  would  give  way  to  the 
luxury  of  being  morbidly  faithful  to  him  forever  without  his 
knowledge." 

But  she  considered  :  in  the  first  i)lace  she  was  a  homeless 
dependent ;  and  what  did  practical  wisdom  tell  her  to  do 
under  such  desperate  circumstances  ? 

To  provide  herself  with  some  place  of  refuge  from 
poverty,  and  with  means  to  aid  her  brother  Owen.  This 
was  to  be  Mr.  Manston's  wife. 

She  did  not  love  him. 

But  what  was  love  without  a  home  ?  Misery.  What  was 
a  home  without  love  ?  Alas,  not  much  ;  but  still  a  kind  of 
home. 

"Yes,"  she  thought,  "  I  am  urged  by  my  common-sense 
to  marry  Mr.  Manston." 

Did  anything  nobler  in  her  say  so  too  ? 

With  the  death  (to  her)  of  Edward  her  heart's  occupation 
was  gone.  Was  it  necessary  or  even  right  for  her  to  tend  it 
and  take  care  of  it  as  she  used  to  in  the  old  time,  when  it 
was  still  a  capable  minister  ? 

By  a  slight  sacrifice  here  she  could  give  happiness  to  at 
least  two  hearts  whose  emotional  activities  were  still  un- 
wounded.  She  would  do  good  to  two  men  whose  lives  were 
far  more  important  than  hers. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  again,  "  even  Christianity  urges  me  to 
marry  Mr.  Manston." 

Directly  Cytherea  had  persuaded  herself  that  a  kind  of 
heroic  self-abnegation  had  to  do  with  the  matter,  she  became 
much  more  content  in  the  consideration  of  it.  A  wilful  indif- 
ference to  the  future  was  what  really  prevailed  in  her,  ill  and 
worn  out,  as  she  was,  by  the  perpetual  harassments  of  her 
sad  fortune,  and  she  regarded  this  indifference,  as  gushing 


228  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

natures  will  under  such  circumstances,  as  genuine  resigna- 
tion and  devotedness. 

Manston  met  her  again  the  following  day :  indeed  there 
was  no  escaping  him  now.  At  the  end  of  a  short  conversa- 
tion between  them,  which  took  a  place  in  the  hollow  of  the 
park  by  the  waterfall,  obscured  on  the  side  by  the  low  outer 
hanging  branches  of  the  limes,  she  tacit!)'  assented  to  his  as- 
sumption of  a  privilege  greater  than  any  that  had  preceded 
it.     lie  stooped  and  kissed  her  brow. 

Before  going  to  bed  she  wrote  to  Owen  explaining  the 
whole  matter.  It  was  too  late  in  the  evening  for  the  post- 
man's visit,  and  she  placed  the  letter  on  the  mantel-piece  to 
send  it  the  next  day. 

The  morning  (Sunday)  brought  a  hurried  postscript  to 
Owen's  letter  of  the  day  before. 

'*  September  gih,  1865. 

"  Dear  Cytherea, 

"  1  have  received  a  frank  and  friendly  letter  from 
Mr.  Manston  explaining  the  position  in  which  he  stands  now, 
and  also  that  in  which  he  hopes  to  stand  towards  you. 
Can't  you  love  him  ?  Why  not  ?  Try,  for  he  is  a  good, 
and  not  only  that  but  a  talented  man.  Think  of  the  weary 
and  laborious  future  that  awaits  you  if  you  continue  for  life 
in  your  present  position,  and  do  you  see  any  way  of  escape 
from  it  except  by  marriage?  I  don't.  Don't  go  against 
your  heart,  Cytherea,  but  be  wise. 

"  Ever  affectionately  yours, 

"  Owen." 

She  thought  that  probably  he  had  replied  to  Mr.  Manston 
in  the  same  fiivoring  mood.  She  had  a  conviction  that  that 
day  would  settle  her  doom.     Yet 

"  So  true  a  fool  is  love," 

that  even  now  she  nourished  a  half-hope  that  something 
would  happen  at  the  last  moment  to  thwart  her  deliberately 
formed  intentions,  and  favor  the  old  emotion  she  was  using 
all  her  strength  to  thrust  down. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


§  8.   TIiQ  tenth  of  September. 


229 


The  Sunday  was  the  thirteenth  after  Trinity,  and  the  after- 
noon service  at  Carriford  was  nearly  over.  The  people 
were  singing  the  Evening  Hymn. 

Manston  was  at  church  as  usual  in  his  accustomed  place, 
two  seats  forward  from  the  large  square  pew  occupied  by 
Miss  Aldclytfe  and  Cytherea. 

The  ordinary  sadness  of  an  autumnal  evening-service 
seemed,  in  Cytherea's  eyes,  to  be  doubled  on  this  particular 
occasion.  She  looked  at  all  the  people  as  they  stood  and 
sang,  waving  backwards  and  forwards  like  a  forest  of  i)ines 
swayed  by  a  gentle  breeze  ;  then  at  the  village  children 
singing  too,  their  heads  inclined  to  one  side,  their  eyes  list- 
lessly tracing  some  crack  in  the  old  walls,  or  following  the 
movement  of  a  distant  bough  or  bird  with  features  petrified 
almost  to  painfulness.  Then  she  looked  at  Manston  ;  he 
was  already  regarding  her  with  some  purpose  in  his  glance. 

•'  It  is  coming  this  evening,"  she  said  in  her  mind.  A 
minute  later,  at  the  end  of  the  hymn,  when  the  congregation 
began  to  move  out,  Manston  came  down  the  aisle.  He  was 
opposite  the  end  of  her  seat  as  she  stepped  from  it,  the  re- 
mainder of  their  progress  to  the  door  being  in  contact  with 
each  other.     Miss  Aldclyffe  had  lingered  behind. 

"  Don't  let's  hurry,"  he  said,  when  Cytherea  was  about  to 
enter  the  private  path  to  the  House  as  usual.  "  Would  you 
mind  turning  down  this  way  for  a  minute  till  Miss  Aldclyffe 
has  passed  ?  " 

She  could  not  very  well  refuse  now.  They  turned  into  a 
secluded  path  on  their  left,  leading  round  through  a  thicket 
of  laurels  to  the  outer  gate  of  the  church-yard,  walking  very 
slowly.  By  the  time  the  farther  gate  was  reached,  the 
church  was  closed.  They  met  the  sexton  with  the  keys  in 
his  hand. 

"  We  are  going  inside  for  a  minute,"  said  Manston  to  him, 
taking  the  keys  unceremoniously.  "  I  will  bring  them  tu 
you  when  we  return." 

The  sexton  nodded  his  assent,  and  Cytherea  and  Mansion' 
walked  into  the  porch  and  up  the  nave. 

They  did  not  speak  a  word  during  their  progress,  or  in  any 


230 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


way  intefere  with  the  stillness  and  silence  that  prevailed 
everywhere  around  them.  Everything  in  the  place  was  the 
embodiment  of  decay  :  the  fading  red  glare  from  the  setting 
sun,  which  came  in  at  the  west  window,  emphasizing  the 
end  of  the  day  and  all  its  cheerful  doings,  the  mildewed 
walls,  the  uneven  paving-stones,  the  wormy  poppy-heads,  the 
sense  of  recent  occupation,  and  the  dan-k  air  of  death  which 
had  gathered  with  the  evening,  would  have  made  grave  a 
lighter  mood  than  Cytherea's  was  then. 

*'  What  sensations  does  the  place  impress  you  with  ? " 
she  said  at  last,  very  sadly. 

"  I  feel  imperatively  called  upon  to  be  honest,  from 
despair  of  achieving  anything  by  stratagem  in  a  world 
where  the  materials  are  such  as  these."  He  too  spoke 
in  a  depressed  voice,  purposely  or  otherwise. 

"  I  feel  as  if  1  were  almost  ashamed  to  be  seen  walking 
such  a  world,"  she  murmured  ;  "  that's  the  effect  it  has 
upon  me  :  but  it  does  not  induce  me  to  be  honest  par- 
ticularly." 

He  took  her  hand  in  both  his,  and  looked  down  upon 
the  lids  of  her  eyes. 

"  I  i)ity  you  sometimes,"  he  said,  more  emphatically. 

"  I  am  pitiable,  perhaps :  so  are  many  people.  Why  do 
you  pity  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  you  make  yourself  needlessly  sad." 

"  Not  needlessly." 

"  Yes,  needlessly.  Why  should  you  be  separated  from 
your  brother  so  much,  when  you  might  have  him  to  stay  with 
)'0U  till  he  is  well  ?" 

"That  can't  be,"  she  said,  turning  away. 

He  went  on,  "  I  think  the  real  and  only  good  thing  that 
can  be  done  for  him  is  to  get  him  away  from  Creston  awhile; 
and  I  have  been  wondering  whether  it  could  not  be  man- 
aged for  him  to  come  to  my  house  to  live  for  a  few  weeks. 
Only  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  you.  How  pleasant  it  would 
be!" 

"It  would." 

He  moved  himself  round  immediately  to  the  front  of  hei, 
and  held  her  hand  more  tirmly,  as  he  continued,  "Cylherea, 
why  do  you  say  '  It  would,'  so  entirely  in  the  tone  of  abstract 
sui)position  ? "     1  want  him  there ;  I  want  him  to  be  mj 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  23 1 

brother  too.  Then  make  him  so  and  be  my  wife  !  I  can- 
not live  without  you — O  Cytherea,  my  darling,  my  love — 
come  and  be  my  wife  !  " 

His  face  bent  closer  and  closer  to  hers,  and  the  last  words 
sank  to  a  whisper  as  weak  as  the  emotion  inspiring  it  was 
strong. 

She  said  firmly  and  distinctly,  "  Yes,  I  will.'' 

"  Next  month  ? "  he  said  on  the  instant,  before  taking 
breath. 

'*  No  ;  not  next  month." 

"  The  next  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  December  ?     Christmas  Day,  say  ?  " 

"I  don't  mind." 

"  O  you  darling !"  He  was  about  to  imprint  a  kiss  upon 
her  pale  cold  mouth,  but  she  hastily  covered  it  with  her  hand. 

"  Don't  kiss  me — at  least  where  we  are  now  !  "  she  whis- 
pered imploringly. 

"Why?" 

"We  are  too  near  God." 

He  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  his  face  flushed.  She  had 
spoken  so  emphatically  that  the  words,  "  Near  God,"  echoed 
back  again  through  the  hollow  building  from  the  far  end  of 
the  chancel. 

"  VVhat  a  thing  to  say  ! "  he  exclaimed ;  "  surely  a  pure 
kiss  is  not  inappropriate  to  the  place  !  " 

"  No,"  she  replied,  with  a  swelling  heart ;  "  I  don't  know 
why  I  burst  out  so — I  can't  tell  what  has  come  over  me  ! 
W^ill  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"How  shall  I  say  'Yes'  without  judging  you?  How 
shall  I  say  '  No '  without  losing  the  pleasure  of  saying 
*  Yes  ? '  "     He  was  himself  again. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  absently  murnntred. 

"I'll  say  Yes,"  he  answered,  daintily.  "  It  is  sweeter  to 
fancy  we  are  forgiven,  than  to  think  we  have  not  sinned ; 
and  you  shall  have  the  sweetness  without  the  need." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  they  moved  away.  The  church 
was  nearly  dark  now,  and  melancholy  in  the  extreme.  She 
stood  beside  him  while  he  locked  the  door,  then  took  the 
arm  he  gave  her,  and  wended  her  way  out  of  the  church* 
yard  with  him.     Then  they  walked  to  the  House  together, 


232 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


but  the  great  matter  having  been  set  at  rest,  she  persisted  in 
talking  only  on  indifferent  subjects. 

"  Christinas  Day,  then,"  he  said,  as  they  were  parting  at 
the  shrubbery. 

"I  meant  OH  Christmas  Day,"  she  said,  evasively. 

"  H'm  !  people  do  not  usually  attach  that  meaning  to  the 
words  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  should  like  it  best  if  it  could  not  be  till  then." 
It  seemed  to  be  still  her  instinct  to  delay  the  marriage  to 
the  utmost. 

"  Very  well.  Love,"  he  said  gently.  "  'Tis  a  fortnight 
longer  still,  but  never  mind.     Old  Christmas  Day." 

§  9.  The  eleventh  of  September. 

"  There.     It  will  be  on  a  Friday  ! " 

She  sat  upon  a  little  footstool  gazing  intently  into  the  fire. 
It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  that  of  the  stew- 
ard's successful  solicitation  of  her  hand. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  would  be  proper  in  me  to  run  across  the 
park  and  tell  him  it  is  a  Friday,"  she  said  to  herself,  rising  to 
her  feet,  looking  at  her  hat  lying  near,  and  then  out  of  the 
window  towards  the  Old  House.  Proper  or  not,  she  felt 
that  she  must  at  all  hazards  remove  the  disagreeable,  though 
as  she  herself  owned,  unfounded  impression  the  coincidence 
had  occasioned.  She  left  the  house  directly,  and  went  to 
search  for  him. 

Manston  was  in  the  timber-yard,  looking  at  the  sawyers 
as  they  worked.  Cytherea  came  up  to  him  hesitatingly. 
Till  within  a  distance  of  a  few  yards  she  had  hurried  for- 
ward with  alacrity  ;  now  that  the  practical  expression  of  liis 
face  became  visible  she  wished  almost  she  had  never  sought 
him  on  such  an  errand  :  in  his  business-mood  he  was  perhaps 
very  stern. 

"  It  will  be  on  a  Friday,"  she  said  confusedly,  and  without 
any  preface. 

"  Come  this  way ! "  said  Manston,  in  the  tone  he  used  for 
workmen,  not  being  able  to  alter  at  an  instant's  notice.  He 
gave  her  his  arm  and  led  her  back  into  the  avenue,  by  which 
time  he  was  lover  again.  "On  a  Friday,  will  it,  dearest? 
You  do  not  mind  Fridays  surely  ?     That's  nonsense." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


233 


"  Not  seriously  mind  them,  exactly — but  if  it  could  be 
any  other  day  ?" 

"  Well  let  us  say  Old  Christmas  Eve  then.  Shall  it  be  Old 
Christmas  Eve  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Old  Christmas  Eve." 

"Your  word  is  solemn  and  irrevocable  now?" 

"  Certainly  ;  I  have  solemnly  pledged  my  word ;  I  should 
not  have  promised  to  marry  you  if  I  had  not  meant  it. 
Don't  think  1  should."  She  spoke  the  words  with  a  digni- 
fied impressiveness. 

"You  must  not  be  vexed  at  my  remark,  dearest.  Can 
you  think  the  worse  of  an  ardent  man,  Cytherea,  for  show- 
ing some  anxiety  in  love?" 

"  No  ;  no."  She  could  not  say  more.  She  was  always 
ill  at  ease  when  he  spoke  of  himself  as  a  piece  of  hiunan 
nature  in  that  analytical  way,  and  wanted  to  be  out  of  his 
presence.  The  time  of  day,  and  the  proximity  of  the  House, 
afforded  her  a  means  of  escape.  "  I  must  be  with  Miss 
Aldclyflfe  now  ;  will  you  excuse  my  hasty  coming  and  go- 
ing ?  ■■'  she  said  prettily.  Before  he  had  replied  she  had 
parted  from  him. 

"  Cytherea,  was  it  Mr.  Manston  I  saw  you  scudding  away 
from  in  the  avenue  just  now?"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  when 
Cytherea  joined  her. 

"Yes." 

"  '  Yes.*  Come,  why  don't  you  say  more  than  that  ?  I 
hate  those  taciturn  'Yeses'  of  yours.  I  tell  you  everything, 
and  yet  you  are  as  close  as  wax  with  me." 

"  I  parted  from  him  because  1  wanted  to  come  in." 

"  What  a  novel  and  important  announcement !  AVell,  is 
the  day  fixed  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Miss  Aldclyffe's  face  kindled  into  intense  interest  at  once. 
"  Is  it  indeed  ?     When  is  it  to  be  ?  " 

"  On  Old  Christmas  Eve." 

"  Old  Christmas  Eve."  Miss  Aldclyffe  drew  Cytherea 
round  to  her  front,  and  took  a  hand  in  each  of  her  own. 
"  And  then  you  will  be  a  bride  !  "  she  said  slowly,  looking 
with  critical  thoughtfulness  upon  the  maiden's  delicately 
rounded  cheeks. 

The   normal  area   of  the  color  upon  each  of  them  de- 


234 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


creased  perceptibly  after  that  slow  and  emphatic  utterance 
by  the  elder  lady. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  continued  impressively,  "You  did  not  say 
*  Old  Christmas  Eve,  as  a  fiancee  should  have  said  the 
words:   and   you  don't  receive  my  remark  with  the  Avarm 

excitement  that  foreshadows  a  bright  future How 

many  weeks  are  there  to  the  time?" 

"  I  have  not  reckoned  them." 

"Not?  Fancy  a  girl  not  counting  the  weeks!  I  find 
I  must  take  the  lead  in  this  matter — you  are  so  childish,  oi 
frightened,  or  stupid,  or  something,  about  it.  Bring  me  my 
diary,  and  we  will  count  them  at  once." 

Cytherea  silently  fetched  the  book. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  opened  tlie  diary  at  the  page  containing 
the  almanac,  and  counted  sixteen  weeks,  which  brought  her 
to  the  thirty-first  of  December — a  Sunday.  Cytherea  stood 
by,  looking  on  as  if  she  had  no  appetite  for  the  scene. 

"  Sixteen  to  the  thirty-first.  Then  let  me  see  :  Monday 
will  be  the  first  of  January,  Tuesday  the  second,  Wednesday 
third,  Thursday  fourth,  Friday  fifth — you  have  chosen  a 
Friday  I  do  declare  !  " 

"A  Thursday,  surely?"  said  Cytherea, 

"  No  :  Old  Christmas  Day  comes  on  a  Saturday." 

The  perturbed  little  brain  had  reckoned  wrong.  "  Well,  it 
must  be  a  Friday,"  she  murmured  in  a  reverie. 

"No;  have  it  altered,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe 
cheerfully.  "  There's  nothing  bad  in  Friday,  but  such  a 
creature  as  you  will  be  thinking  about  its  being  unlucky— 
in  fact,  I  wouldn't  chose  a  Friday  myself  to  be  married  on, 
since  all  other  days  are  equally  available." 

"  I  shall  not  have  it  altered,"  said  Cytherea  firmly  ;  "  it 
has  been  altered  once,  already  ;  I  shall  let  it  be." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  EVENTS   OF  ONE  DAY. 
§  I.   The  fifth  of  Jafiuary.     Before  dawn. 

WE  pass  over  the  intervening  weeks.  The  time  of 
the  stor)'  is  thus  advanced  exactly  three  months  and 
twenty-four  days. 

On  the  midnight  preceding  the  morning  which  would 
make  her  the  wife  of  a  man  whose  presence  fascinated  her 
into  involuntariness  of  bearing,  and  whom  in  absence  she  al- 
most dreaded,  Cytherea  lay  in  her  little  bed,  vainly  en- 
deavoring to  sleep. 

She  had  been  looking  back  amid  the  years  of  her  short 
though  varied  past,  and  thinking  of  the  threshold  upon 
which  she  stood.  Days  and  months  had  dimmed  the  form 
of  Edward  Springrove  like  the  gauzes  of  a  vanishing  stage- 
scene,  but  his  dying  voice  could  still  be  heard  faintly  behind. 
That  a  soft  small  chord  in  her  still  vibrated  true  to  his 
memory,  she  would  not  admit :  that  she  did  not  approach 
Manston  with  feelings  which  could  by  any  stretch  of  words 
be  called  hymeneal,  she  calmly  owned. 

"  Why  do  I  marry  him  ?  "  she  said  to  herself.  "  Because 
Owen,  dear  Owen,  my  brother,  wishes  me  to  marry  him. 
Because  Mr.  Manston  is  and  has  been  uniformly  kind  to 
Owen  and  to  me.  'Act  in  obedience  to  the  dictates  of 
common  sense,'  Owen  said,  '  and  dread  the  sharp  sting  of 
poverty.  How  many  thousands  of  women  like  you  marry 
every  year  for  the  same  reason,  to  secure  a  home  and  mere 
ordinary  material  comforts,  which  after  all  go  far  to  make 
life  endurable,  e\  en  if  not  supremely  happy.' 

*'  'Tis  right,  I  suppose,  for  him  to  say  that.  O  if  people 
only  knew  what  a  timidity  and  melancholy  upon  the  subject 
of  her  future  grows  up  in  'he  heart  of  a  friendless  womao 


236  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

who  is  blown  about  like  a  reed  shaken  with  the  wind,  as  I 
am,  they  would  not  call  this  resignation  of  one's  self  by  the 
name  of  scheming  to  get  a  husband.  Scheme  to  marry?  i'd 
rather  scheme  to  die  !  I  know  1  am  not  pleasing  my  heart ;  I 
know  that  if  I  only  were  concerned,  I  should  like  risking  a 
single  future.  But  why  shoal  1  1  ])lease  my  useless  self 
overmuch,  when  b^  doing  otherwise  I  please  those  who  are 
more  valuable  than  I  ?  " 

In  the  midst  of  desultory  reflectionslike  these,  which  alter- 
nated with  surmises  as  to  the  inexplicable  connection  that 
appeared  to  exist  between  her  intended  husband  and  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  she  heard  dull  noises  outside  the  walls  of  the 
house,  which  she  could  not  quite  fancy  to  be  caused  by  the 
wind.  She  seemed  doomed  to  such  disturbances  at  critical 
periods  of  her  existence.  "  It  is  strange,"  she  pondered, 
"  that  this  my  last  night  in  Knapvvater  House,  should  be 
disturbed  precisely  as  my  first  was,  no  occurrence  of  the 
kind  having  intervened." 

As  the  minutes  glided  by  the  noise  increased,  sounding  as 
if  some  one  were  beating  the  wall  below  her  window  with  a 
bunch  of  switches.  She  would  gladly  have  left  her  room 
and  gone  to  stay  with  one  of  the  maids,  but  they  were  with- 
out doubt  all  aslee]). 

The  only  person  in  the  house  likely  to  be  awake,  or  who 
would  have  brains  enough  to  comprehend  her  nervousness, 
was  Miss  Aldclyffe,  but  Cytherea  never  cared  to  go  to  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  room,  though  she  was  always  welcome  there,  and 
was  often  almost  compelled  to  go  against  her  will. 

The  oft-repeated  noise  of  switches  grew  heavier  upon  the 
wall,  and  was  now  intermingled  with  creaks,  and  a  rattling 
like  the  rattling  of  dice.  The  wind  blew  stronger ;  there 
came  first  a  snapping,  then  a  crash,  and  some  portion  of  tlie 
mystery  was  revealed.  It  was  the  breaking  off  and  fall  of  a 
branch  from  one  of  the  large  trees  outside.  The  smacking 
against  the  wall,  and  the  intermediate  rattling,  ceased  from 
that  time. 

Well,  it  was  the  tree  which  had  caused  the  noises.  The 
unexplained  matter  was  that  neither  of  the  trees  ever  touched 
the  walls  of  the  house  during  the  highest  wind,  and  that  trees 
could  not  lattle  like  a  man  playing  castanet  or  shaking 
dice. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.       •  237 

She  thought,  "  Is  it  the  intention  of  Fate  that  something 
connected  with  these  noises  shall  influence  my  future  as  in 
the  last  case  of  the  kind  ?  " 

During  the  dilemma  she  fell  into  a  troupled  sleep,  and 
dreamt  that  she  was  being  whipped  with  dry  bones  suspended 
on  strings,  which  rattled  at  every  blow  like  those  of  a  male- 
factor on  a  gibbet ;  that  she  shifted  and  shrank  and  avoided 
every  blow,  and  they  fell  then  ujjon  the  wall  to  which  she 
was  tied.  She  could  not  see  the  face  of  the  executioner  for 
his  mask,  but  his  form  was  like  Manston's. 

"Thank  Heaven  !  "  she  said,  when  she  awoke  and  saw  a 
faint  light  struggling  through  her  blind.  "  Now  what  were 
those  noises?"  To  settle  that  question  seemed  more  to  her 
than  the  event  of  the  day. 

She  pulled  the  blind  aside  and  looked  out.  All  was  plain., 
The  evening  previous  had  closed  in  with  a  gray  drizzle, 
borne  upon  a  piercing  air  from  the  north,  and  now  its  effects 
were  visible.  The  hoary  drizzle  still  continued  ;  but  the 
trees  and  shrubs  were  laden  with  icicles  to  an  extent  such  as 
she  had  never  before  witnessed.  A  shoot  of  the  diameter  of 
a  i)in's  head  was  iced  as  thick  as  her  finger:  all  the  boughs 
in  the  j^ark  were  bent  almost  to  the  earth  with  the  immense 
weight  of  the  glistening  encumbrance  :  the  walks  were  like  ^ 
looking-glass.  Many  boughs  had  snapped  beneath  their 
burden,  and  lay  in  heaps  upon  the  icy  grass.  Opposite  her 
eye,  on  the  nearest  tree,  was  a  fresh  yellow  scar,  showing 
where  the  branch  that  had  lerritied  her  had  been  splintered 
from  the  trunk. 

"  I  never  could  have  believed  it  possible,"  she  thought, 
surveying  the  bowed-down  branches,  "  that  trees  would  bend 
so  far  out  of  their  true  positions  without  breaking."  Ky 
watching  a  twig  she  could  see  a  drop  collect  upon  it  from 
the  hoary  fog,  sink  to  the  lowest  point,  and  there  become 
coagulated  as  the  others  had  done. 

"  Or  that  I  could  so  exactly  have  imitated  them,"  she 
continued.  "  On  this  morning  I  am  to  be  married— unless 
this  is  a  scheme  of  the  great  Mother  to  hinder  a  union  of 
which  she  does  not  approve.  Is  it  possible  for  my  wedding 
to  take  place  in  the  face  of  such  weather  as  this?" 


238  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


§    2.   Morning. 

Her  brother  Owen  was  staying  with  Manstoii  at  the  Old 
House.  Contrary  to  the  opinion  of  the  doctors,  the  wound 
had  healed  after  the  first  surgical  operation,  and  his  leg  was 
gradually  acquiring  strength,  though  he  could  only  as  yet 
get  about  on  crutches,  or  ride,  or  be  dragged  in  a  chair. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  arranged  that  Cytherea  should  be  mar- 
ried from  Knapwater  House,  and  not  from  her  brother's 
lodgings  at  Creston,  which  was  Cytherea's  first  idea.  Owen, 
too,  seemed  to  prefer  the  plan.  The  capricious  old  maid 
had  latterly  taken  to  the  contemplation  of  the  wedding  with 
even  greater  warmth  than  had  at  first  inspired  her,  and  ap- 
peared determined  to  do  everything  in  her  power,  consistent 
with  her  dignity,  to  render  the  adjuncts  of  the  ceremony 
pleasing  and  complete. 

But  the  weather  seemed  in  flat  contradiction  of  the  whole 
proceeding.  At  eight  o'clock  the  coachman  crept  up  to  the 
House  almost  upon  his  hands  and  knees,  entered  the  kitchen, 
and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  panting  from  his  exer- 
tions in  pedestrianism. 

The  kitchen  was  by  far  the  pleasantest  apartment  in 
Knapwater  House  on  such  a  morning  as  this.  The  vast  fire 
was  the  centre  of  the  whole  system,  like  a  sun,  and  threw  its 
warm  rays  upon  the  figures  of  the  domestics,  wheeling  about 
it  in  true  planetar}'  style.  A  nervously  feeble  imitation 
of  its  flicker  was  continually  attempted  by  a  family  of  pol- 
ished metalic  utensils  standing  in  rows  and  groups  agamst 
the  walls  opposite,  the  whole  collection  of  shines  nearly  an- 
nihilating the  weak  daylight  from  outside.  A  step  farther  in, 
and  the  nostrils  were  greeted  by  the  scent  of  sweet  herbs 
just  gathered,  and  the  eye  by  the  plump  form  of  the  cook, 
wholesome,  white  aproned,  and  floury — looking  as  edible  as 
the  food  she  manipulated — her  moven>ents  being  supiiorted 
and  assisted  by  her  satellites,  the  kitchen  and  scullery  maids. 
Minute  recurrent  sounds  prevailed — the  click  of  the  smoke- 
jack,  the  flap  of  the  flames,  and  the  light  touches  of  the 
women's  slippers  upon  the  stone  floor. 

The  coachman  hemmed,  si)read  his  feet  more  firmly  upon 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


239 


the  hearthstone,  and  looked  hard  at  a  small  plate  in  the  ex- 
treme corner  of  the  dresser. 

"  No  wedden  this  mornen — that's  my  opinion.  In  fact, 
there  can't  be,"  he  said,  abruptly,  as  if  the  words  were  the 
mere  torso  of  a  many-membered  thought  that  had  existed 
complete  in  his  head. 

The  kitchen-maid  was  toasting  a  slice  of  bread  at  the  end 
of  a  very  long  toasting-fork  which  she  held  at  arm's  length 
towards  the  unapproachable  fire,  like  the  Flanconnade  in 
fencing. 

"  Bad  out  of  doors,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  look  of  com- 
miseration for  things  in  general. 

"  Bad  ?  Not  a  liven  soul  gentle  or  simple  can  stand  on 
level  ground.  As  to  getten  up  hill  to  the  church,  'tis  ])erfect 
lunacy.  And  I  sjieak  of  foot-passengers.  As  to  horses  and 
carriage,  'tis  murder  to  think  of  'em.  I  am  going  to  send 
straight  as  a  line  into  the  breakfast-room,  and  say  'tis  a 
closer  ....  Hullo, — here's  Clerk  Crickett  and  John  Day 
a-comen  !  Now  just  look  at  'em  and  picture  a  wedden  if 
you  can." 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  the  window,  from  which  the  clerk 
and  gardener  were  seen  crossing  the  court,  bowed  and  stoop- 
ing like  Bel  and  Nebo. 

"  You'll  have  to  go  if  it  breaks  all  the  horses'  legs  in  the 
county,"  said  the  cook,  turning  from  the  spectacle,  knock- 
ing open  the  oven  door  with  the  tongs,  glancing  critically  in^ 
and  slamming  it  together  with  a  clang. 

"Oh,  oh;  why  shall  I?"  asked  the  coachman,  including 
in  his  auditory  by  a  glance  the  clerk  and  gardener  who  had 
just  entered. 

"  Because  Mr.  Manston  is  in  the  business.  Did  you  ever 
know  him  to  give  up  for  weather  of  any  kind,  or  for  any 
other  mortal  thing  in  heaven  or  earth  ?  " 

" — Mornen  so's, — such  as  it  is  ! "  interrupted  Mr.  Crickett, 
cheerily,  coming  forward  to  the  blaze  and  warn)ing  one  hand 
without  looking  at  the  fire.  Mr.  Manston  gie  up  for  any- 
thing in  heaven  or  earth,  did  you  say  ?  You  might  ha'  cut 
it  short  by  sayen  '  to  Miss  Aldclyfife,'  and  leaven  out  heaven 
and  earth  as  trilles.  r>ut  it  might  be  put  off;  putten  off  a 
thing  isn't  getten  rid  of  a  thing,  if  that  thing  is  a  woman ;  oh 
no,  no." 


240  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  coachman  and  gardener  now  naturally  subsided  into 
secondaries.  The  cook  went  on  rather  sharply,  as  she 
dribbled  milk  into  the  exact  centre  of  a  little  crater  of  flour 
in  a  platter. 

"It  might  be  in  this  case :  she's  so  indifferent." 

"  Dang  my  old  sides  !  and  so  it  might  be.  I  have  a  bit 
of  news — I  thought  there  was  something  upon  my  tongue: 
but  'tis  a  secret,  not  a  word  mind,  not  a  word.  Why,  Miss 
Hinton  took  a  holiday  yesterday." 

"  Yes  ? "  inquired  the  cook,  looking  up  with  perplexed 
curiosity. 

"  D'ye  think  that's  all  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  so  three-cunning — if  it  is  all,  deliver  you  from 
the  evil  of  raising  a  woman's  expectations  wrongfully  ;  I'll 
skimmer  your  pate  as  sure  as  you  cry  Amen  !  " 

"  Well,  it  isn't  all.  When  I  got  home  last  night  my  wife 
said,  *  Miss  Hinton  took  a  holiday  this  mornen,'  says  she 
(my  wife,  tiiat  is) ;  '  walked  over  to  Stintham  Lane,  met  the 
comen  man,  and  got  married  ! '  says  she. 

"  Got  married !  what,  Lord-a-mercy,  did  Springrove 
come?" 

"  Springrove,  no — no — Springrove's  nothen  to  do  vvi'  it — 
'twas  Farmer  Bollens.  They've  been  playing  bo-peep  for 
these  two  or  three  months  seemingly.  Whilst  Master  Teddy 
Springrove  has  been  daddlen  and  hawken,  and  spettin  about 
having  her,  she's  quietly  left  him  all  forsook.  Serve  him 
right.     1  don't  blame  the  little  woman  a  bit.'^ 

"  Farmer  Bollens  is  old  enough  to  be  her  father  !  " 

"  Ay,  quite  ;  and  rich  enough  to  be  ten  fathers.  They 
say  he's  so  rich,  that  he  has  business  in  every  bank,  and 
measures  his  money  in  half-pint  cups." 

"  Lord,  I  wish  it  was  me,  don't  I  wish  'twas  me  ! "  said 
the  scullery-maid. 

"  Yes,  'twas  as  neat  a  bit  of  stitchen  as  ever  I  heard  of," 
continued  the  clerk,  with  a  fixed  eye,  as  if  he  were  watching 
the  process  from  a  distance.  "Not  a  soul  knew  anything 
about  it,  and  my  wife  is  the  only  one  in  our  parish  who 
knows  it  yet.  Miss  Hinton  came  back  irom  the  wedden, 
went  to  Mr.  Manston,  i^uffed  herself  out  large  and  said  she 
was  Mrs.  Bollens,  but  that  if  he  wished,  she  had  no  objection 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  241 

to  keep  on   the  house   till  the  regular  time  of  giving  notice 
had  expired,  or  till  he  could  get  another  tenant." 

"Just  like  her  independence,"  said  the  cook. 

"Well,  indejiendent  or  no,  she's  Mrs.  Bollens  now.  Ah, 
I  shall  never  forget  once  when  I  went  by  Farmer  Bollens' 
garden — years  ago  now — 3'ears,  when  he  was  taken  up  ash- 
leaf  taties.  A  merry  feller  I  was  at  that  time,  a  very  merry 
feller — for  'twas  before  I  took  orders,  and  it  didn't  prick  my 
conscience  as  twould  now.  '  Farmer, '  rays  I,  '  little  taties 
seem  to  turn  out  small  this  year,  don't  'em?'  'Oh,  no, 
Crickett,' says  he,' some  be  fair-sized.'  He's  a  dull  man — 
F'armer  Bollens  is — he  always  was.  However,  that's  neither 
here  nor  there,  he's  a-married  to  a  sharp  woman,  and  if  I 
don't  make  a  mistake  she'll  bring  him  a  pretty  good  family, 
gie  her  time." 

"  Well,  it  don't  matter;  there's  a  Providence  in  it,"  said 
the  scullery-maid.  "  God  A' mighty  always  sends  bread  as 
well  as  children." 

"  But  'tis  the  bread  to  one  house  and  the  children  to 
another.  However,  I  think  I  can  see  my  lady  Hinton's  rea- 
son for  choosen  yesterday  to  sickness-or-health-it.  Your 
young  Miss,  and  that  one,  had  crossed  one  another's  path 
m  regard  to  young  Master  Springrove  :  and  I  expect  that 
when  Addy  Hinton  found  Miss  Graye  wasn't  caren  to  have 
en,  she  thought  she'd  be  beforehand  with  her  old  enemy  in 
marrying  somebody  else  too.  That's  maids'  logic  all  over, 
and  maids'  malice  too." 

Women  who  are  bad  enough  to  divide  against  themselves 
under  a  man's  partiality,  are  good  enough  to  instantly  unite 
in  a  common  cause  against  his  attack. 

"I'll  just  tell  you  one  thing,  then,"  said  the  cook,  shak- 
ing out  her  words  to  the  time  of  a  whisk  she  was  beating 
eggs  with.  "  Whatever  maids'  logic  is,  and  maids'  malice 
t  )0,  if  Cytherea  Graye  even  now  knows  that  young  Sjijring- 
rove  is  free  again,  she'll  fling  over  the  steward  as  soon  as 
look  at  him." 

"No,  no;  not  now,"  the  coachman  broke  in  like  a  mod- 
erator. "There's  honor  in  that  maid,  if  ever  there  was  in 
one.  No,  Miss  Hinton's  tricks  in  her.  She'll  stick  to 
Mansion." 

"Pifn!" 

11 


242  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

"Don't  let  a  svord  be  said  till  the  wedden  is  over,  foi 
Heaven's  sake,"  the  clerk  continued.  "  Miss  Aldclyffe  would 
fairly  hang  and  quarter  me,  if  my  news  broke  off  that  there 
wedden  at  a  last  minute  like  this." 

"  Then  you  had  better  get  your  wife  to  bolt  you  in  the 
closet  for  an  hour  or  two,  for  you'll  chatter  it  yourself  to  the 
whole  boiling  parish  if  she  don't !  'Tis  a  poor  womanly 
feller." 

"  You  shouldn't  ha'  begun  it,  clerk.  I  knew  how  'twould 
be,"  said  the  gardener  soothingly,  in  a  whisper  to  the  clerk's 
mangled  remains. 

The  clerk  turned  and  smiled  at  the  fire,  and  warmed  his 
other  hand. 


§  3.  Noon. 

The  weather  gave  way.  In  half  an  hour  there  began  a 
rapid  thaw.  By  ten  o'clock  the  roads,  though  still  dangc;r- 
ous,  were  practicable  to  the  extent  of  the  half-mile  required 
by  the  people  of  Knapwater  Park.  One  mass  of  heavy 
leaden  cloud  spread  over  the  whole  sky ;  the  air  began  to 
feel  damp  and  mild  out  of  doors,  though  still  cold  and  frosty 
within. 

They  reached  the  church  and  passed  up  the  nave,  the 
deep-colored  glass  of  the  narrow  windows  rendering  the 
gloom  of  the  morning  almost  night  itself  inside  the  building. 
Then  the  ceremony  began  The  only  warmth  or  spirit 
imported  into  it  came  from  the  bridegroom,  who  retained  a 
vigorous — even  Spenserian — bridal-mood  throughout  the 
morning. 

Cytherea  was  as  firm  as  he  at  this  critical  moment,  but  as 
cold  as  the  air  surrounding  her.  The  few  persons  forming 
the  wedding-party  were  constrained  in  movement  and  tone, 
and  from  the  nave  of  the  church  came  occasional  coughs, 
emitted  by  those  who,  in  spite  of  the  weather,  had  assembled 
to  see  the  termination  of  Cytherea's  existence  as  a  single 
woman.  Many  poor  people  loved  her.  They  pitied  her 
success,  why,  they  could  not  tell,  except  that  it  was  because 
she  seemed  to  stand  more  like  a  statue  than  Cytherea  Graye. 

Vet  she  was  prettily  and  carefully  dressed,  a  strange  con« 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  243 

tradiction  in  a  man's  idea  of  things ;  a  saddening,  perplex- 
ing contradiction.  Are  there  any  points  in  which  a  differ- 
ence of  sex  amounts  to  a  difference  of  nature  ?  Then  this 
is.  surely  one.  Not  so  much,  as  it  is  commonly  put,  in  re- 
gard to  the  amount  of  consideration  given,  but  in  the  con- 
ception of  the  thing  considered.  A  man  emasculated  by 
coxcombry  may  spend  more  time  ui)on  the  arrangement  of 
his  clothes  than  any  woman,  but  even  then  there  is  no  feti- 
chism  in  his  idea  of  them — they  are  still  only  a  covering  he 
uses  for  a  time.  But  here  was  Cytherea,  in  the  bottom  of 
lier  heart  almost  indifferent  to  life,  yet  possessing  an  instinct 
with  which  her  heart  had  nothing  to  do,  the  instinct  to  be 
particularly  regardful  of  those  sorry  trifles,  her  robe,  her 
flowers,  her  veil,  and  her  gloves. 

The  irrevocable  words  were  soon  spoken — the  indelible 
writing  soon  written — and  they  came  out  of  the  vestry. 
Candles  had  been  necessary  here  to  enable  them  to  sign  their 
names,  and  on  their  return  to  the  church  the  light  from  the 
candle  streamed  from  the  small  open  door,  and  across  the 
chancel  to  a  black  chestnut  screen  on  the  south  side,  divid- 
ing it  from  a  small  chai^el,  or  chantry,  erected  for  the  soul's 
peace  of  some  Aldclyffe  of  the  past.  Through  the  open- 
work of  this  screen  could  now  be  seen  illuminated,  inside  the 
chantry,  the  reclining  figures  of  cross-legged  knights,  damp 
and  green  with  age,  and  above  them  a  huge  classic  monu- 
ment, also  inscribed  to  the  Aldclyffe  family,  heavily  sculpt- 
ured in  cadaverous  marble. 

Leaning  here — almost  hanging  to  the  monument — was 
Edward  Springrove,  or  his  spirit. 

The  weak  daylight  would  never  have  revealed  him,  shaded 
as  he  was  by  the  screen  ;  but  the  unexpected  rays  of  candle- 
light in  the  front  showed  him  forth  in  starthng  relief  to  any 
and  all  of  those  whose  eyes  wandered  in  that  direction.  The 
sight  was  a  sad  one — sad  beyond  all  description.  His  eyes 
were  wild,  their  orbits  leaden.  His  face  was  of  a  sickly 
paleness,  his  hair  dry  and  disordered,  his  lij^s  parted  as  if  he 
could  get  no  breath.  His  figure  was  spectre-thin.  His 
actions  seemed  beyond  his  own  control. 

Mansion  did  not  see  him  ;  Cytherea  did.  The  healing 
effect  upon  her  heart  of  a  year's  silence — a  year  and  a  half's 
separation — was  undone  in  an  instant.     One  of  those  strange 


244 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


revivals  of  passion  by  mere  sight — commoner  in  women  than 
in  men,  and  in  oppressed  women  commonest  of  all — had 
taken  place  in  her — so  transcendently,  that  even  to  herself 
it  seemed  more  like  a  new  creation  than  a  revival. 

Marrying  for  a  home — what  a  mockery  it  w^as  ! 

It  may  be  said  that  the  means  most  potent  for  rekindling 
old  love  in  a  maiden's  heart  are,  to  see  her  lover  in  laughter 
and  good  spirits  in  her  despite  when  the  breach  has  been 
owing  to  a  slight  from  herself;  when  owing  to  a  slight  from 
him,  to  see  him  suffering  for  his  own  fault.  If  he  is  happy 
in  a  clear  conscience,  she  blames  him  ;  if  he  is  miserable 
because  deeply  to  blame,  she  blames  herself  The  latter 
was  Cytherea's  case  now. 

First,  an  agony  of  face  told  of  the  suppressed  misery 
Avithin  her,  which  presently  could  be  suppressed  no  longer. 
When  they  were  coming  out  of  the  porch,  there  broke  from 
her  in  a  low  plaintive  scream  the  words,  "  He's  dying — dy- 
ing !  O  God  save  us ! "  She  began  to  sink  down,  and 
would  have  fallen  had  not  Manston  caught  her.  The  chief 
bridesmaid  applied  her  vinaigrette. 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  "  inquired  Manston. 

Owen  was  the  only  one  to  whom  the  words  were  intelligi- 
ble, and  he  was  far  too  deeply  impressed,  or  rather  alarmed, 
to  re]5ly.  She  did  not  faint,  and  soon  began  to  recover  her 
self-command.  Owen  took  advantage  of  the  hindrance  to 
step  back  to  where  the  apparition  had  been  seen.  He  was 
enraged  with  Springrove  for  what  he  considered  an  unwar- 
rantable intrusion. 

But  Edward  was  not  in  the  chantry.  As  he  had  come,  so 
he  had  gone,  nobody  could  tell  how  or  whither. 


§  4.  Afternocn. 

It  might  almost  have  been  believed  that  an  impossibility 
had  taken  place  in  Cytherea's  idiosyncrasy,  and  that  her 
nature  had  changed. 

The  wedding-party  returned  to  the  house.  As  soon  as 
he  could  find  an  oi)portunity,  Owen  took  his  sister  aside  to 
speak  privately  with  her  on  what  had  happened.  The  ex- 
pression of  her  face  was  hard,  wild,  and  unreal — an  expres- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  245 

sion  he  had  never  seen  there  before,  and  it  disturbed  him. 
He  si)oke  to  her  severely  and  sadly. 

"  Cytherea,"  he  said,  "  I  know  the  cause  of  this  emotion 
of  yours.  But  remember  this,  there  was  no  excuse  for  it. 
You  should  have  been  woman  enough  to  control  yourself. 
Remember  whose  wife  you  are,  and  don't  thnik  anything 
more  of  a  mean-spirited  fellow  like  Springrove  ;  he  had  no 
business  to  come  there  as  he  did.  You  are  altogether 
wrong,  Cytherea,  and  1  am  vexed  with  you  more  than  1  can 
say — very  vexed." 

"  Say  ashamed  of  me  at  once,"  she  bitterly  answered. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  he  retorted  angrily.  "  The 
mood  has  not  left  you  yet,  then  ?" 

*'  Owen,"  she  said,  and  paused.  Her  lip  trembled  ;  her 
eye  told  of  sensations  too  deep  for  tears.  "  No,  Owen,  it 
has  not  left  me ;  and  I  will  be  honest.  I  own  now  to  you, 
without  any  disguise  of  words,  what  last  night  I  did  not  own 
to  myself,  because  I  hardly  knew  of  it.  I  love  Edward 
Springrove  with  all  my  strength,  and  heart,  and  soul.  You 
call  me  a  wanton  for  it,  don't  you  ?  I  don't  care,  I  have 
gone  beyond  caring  foi-  anything  ! "  She  looked  stonily  into 
his  face,  and  made  the  speech  calmly. 

"Well,  poor  Cytherea,  don't  talk  like  that!"  he  said, 
alarmed  at  her  manner. 

"  I  thought  that  I  did  not  love  him  at  all,"  she  went  on, 
hysterically.  "  A  year  and  half  had  passed  since  we  met. 
I  could  go  by  the  gate  of  his  garden  without  thinking  of  him 
— look  at  his  seat  in  church  and  not  care.  But  I  saw  him 
this  morning — dying  because  he  loves  me  so — I  know  it  is 
that !  Can  I  help  loving  him  too  ?  No,  I  cannot,  and  I 
will  love  him,  and  I  don't  care  !  We  have  been  separated 
somehow  by  some  contrivance — I  know  we  have.  O,  if  I 
couid  only  die  !  " 

He  held  her  in  his  arms.  "  Many  a  woman  has  gone  to 
ruin  herself,"  he  said,  '-and  brought  those  who  love  her  into 
dicgrace,  by  acting  upon  such  impulses  as  possess  you  now. 
I  have  a  reputation  to  lose  as  well  as  you.  It  seems  that 
do  what  1  will  by  way  of  remedying  the  stains  which  fell 
upon  us,  it  is  all  doomed  to  be  undone  again."  His  voice 
grew  husky  as  he  made  th^  reply. 

The  right  and  only  effec'ive  chord   had  been  touched 


246  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Since  she  had  seen  Edward,  she  had  thought  only  of  her- 
self  and  him.  Owen — her  name — position — future — had 
been  as  if  they  did  not  exist. 

"I  won't  give  way  and  become  a  disgrace  \.o you  at  any 
rate,"  she  said. 

"  Besides,  your  duty  to  society  and  those  about  you  re- 
quires that  )'ou  should  live  with  (at  any  rate)  all  the  appear- 
ance of  a  good  wife,  and  try  to  love  your  husband." 

"Yes — my  duty  to  society,"  she  murmured.  "But  ah, 
Owen,  it  is  difficult  to  adjust  our  outer  and  inner  life  with 
IJerfect  honesty  to  all  !  Though  it  may  be  right  to  care 
more  for  the  benefit  of  the  many  than  for  the  indulgence  of 
your  own  single  self,  when  you  consider  that  the  many,  and 
duty  to  them,  only  exist  to  you  through  your  own  existence, 
what  can  be  said  ?  What  do  our  own  acquaintances  care 
about  us  ?  Not  much.  I  think  of  mine.  iVIine  will  now 
(do  they  learn  all  the  wicked  frailty  of  my  heart  in  this  af- 
fair) look  at  me,  smile  sickly,  and  condemn  me.  And  per- 
haps, far  in  time  to  come,  when  I  am  dead  and  gone,  some 
other's  accent,  or  some  other's  song,  or  thought,  like  an  old 
one  of  mine,  will  carry  them  back  to  what  I  used  to  say, 
and  hurt  their  hearts  a  little  that  they  blamed  me  so  soon. 
And  they  will  pause  just  for  an  instant,  and  give  a  sigh  to 
me,  and  think,  '  Poor  girl,'  believing  they  do  great  justice  to 
my  memory  by  this.  But  they  will  never,  never  realize  that 
it  was  my  single  opportunity  of  existence,  as  well  as  of  doing 
my  duty,  which  they  are  regarding;  they  will  not  feel  that 
what  to  them  is  but  a  thought,  easily  held  in  those  two  words 
of  pity,  '  Poor  girl,'  was  a  \vh0l2  life  to  me  \  as  full  of  hours, 
minutes,  and  peculiar  minutes,  of  hopes  and  dreads,  smiles, 
whisperings,  tears,  as  theirs  :  that  it  was  my  world,  what  is  to 
them  their  world,  and  they  in  that  life  of  mine,  however  much 
I  cared  for  them,  only  as  the  thought  I  seem  to  them  to  be. 
Nobody  can  enter  into  another's  nature  truly,  that's  what  is 
so  grievous." 

"  Well,  it  cannot  be  helped,"  said  Owen. 

"  But  we  must  not  stay  here,"  she  continued,  starting  up 
and  going.  "  We  shall  be  missed.  I'll  do  my  best,  Owen 
— I  will,  indeed." 

It  had  been  decided  that,  on  account  of  the  wretched 
state  of  the  roads,  the  newly  married  pair  should  not  drive  to 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


247 


the  station  till  the  latest  hour  in  the  afternoon  at  which  they 
could  get  a  train  to  take  them  to  Southampton  (their  desti- 
nation that  night)  by  a  reasonable  time  in  the  evening. 
They  intended  the  next  morning  to  cross  to  Havre,  and 
thence  to  Paris — a  place  Cytherea  had  never  visited — for 
their  wedding  tour. 

The  afternoon  drew  on.  The  packing  was  done.  Cythe- 
rea was  so  restless  that  she  could  stay  still  nowhere.  Miss 
Aldclyfte,  wlio,  though  she  took  little  part  in  the  day's  i)ro- 
ceedings,  was  as  it  were  instinctively  conscious  of  all  their 
movements,  put  down  her  charge's  agitation  for  once  as  the 
natural  result  of  the  novel  event,  and  Manston  himself  was 
as  indulgent  as  could  be  wished. 

At  length  Cytherea  wandered  alone  into  the  conservatory. 
When  in  it,  she  thought  she  would  run  across  to  the  hot- 
house in  the  outer  garden,  having  in  her  heart  a  whimsical 
desire  that  she  should  also  like  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  fa- 
miliar flowers  and  luxuriant  leaves  collected  there.  She 
pulled  on  a  pair  of  overshoes,  and  thither  she  went.  Not  a 
soul  was  in  or  around  the  place.  The  gardener  was  making 
merry  on  Manston's  and  her  account. 

The  happiness  that  a  generous  spirit  derives  from  the  be- 
lief that  it  exists  in  others,  is  often  greater  than  the  primary 
happiness  itself.  The  gardener  thought,  "  How  happy  they 
are  !  "  aud  the  thought  made  him  happier  than  they. 

Coming  out  of  the  forcing-house  again,  she  was  on  the 
point  of  returning  in-doors,  when  a  feeling  that  these  mo- 
ments of  solitude  would  be  her  last  of  freedom  induced  her 
to  prolong  them  a  little,  and  she  stood  still,  unheeding  the 
wintry  aspect  of  the  curly-leaved  plants,  the  straw-covered 
beds,  and  the  bare  fruit-trees  around  her.  The  garden,  no 
part  of  which  was  visible  from  the  house,  sloped  down  to  a 
narrow  river  at  the  foot,  dividing  it  from  the  meadows  with- 
out. 

A  man  was  lingering  along  the  public  path  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river  ;  she  fancied  she  knew  the  form.  Her  res- 
olutions, taken  in  the  presence  of  Owen,  did  not  fail  her 
now.  She  hoped  and  ])rayed  that  it  might  not  be  one  who 
had  stolen  her  heart  away  and  still  kept  it.  Why  should  he 
have  reappeared  at  all,  when  he  had  declared  that  he  went 
out  of  her  sight  forever  ? 


248  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

She  hastily  hid  herself  in  the  lowest  corner  of  the  garden 
close  to  the  river.  A  large  dead  tree,  thickly  robed  in  ivy, 
had  been  considerably  dejiressed  by  its  icy  load  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  hung  low  over  the  stream,  which  here  ran  slow  and 
deep.  The  tree  screened  her  from  the  eyes  of  any  passer  on 
the  other  side. 

She  waited  timidly,  and  her  timiJity  increased.  She  would 
not  allow  herself  to  see  him — she  would  hear  him  pass,  and 
then  look  to  see  if  it  had  been  Edward. 

But,  before  she  heard  anything,  she  became  aware  of  an 
object  reflected  in  the  water  from  under  the  tree,  which  hung 
over  the  river  in  such  a  way  that,  though  hiding  the  actual 
path,  and  objects  upon  it,  it  permitted  their  reflected  images 
to  pass  beneath  its  boughs.  The  reflected  form  was  that  of 
the  man  she  had  seen  farther  off,  but  being  inverted,  she 
could  not  definitely  characterize  him. 

He  was  looking  at  the  upper  windows  of  the  House — at 
hers — was  it  Edward,  indeed  ?  If  so,  he  was  probably  think- 
ing he  would  like  to  say  one  parting  word.  He  came  closer, 
gazed  into  the  stream,  and  walked  very  slowly.  She  was  al- 
most certain  that  it  was  Edward.  She  kept  more  safely  hid- 
den. Conscience  told  her  that  she  ought  not  to  see  him. 
But  she  suddenly  asked  herself  a  question  :  "Can  it  be  pos- 
sible that  he  sees  my  reflected  image  as  I  see  his  ?  Of 
course  he  does  !" 

He  was  looking  at  her  in  the  water. 

She  could  not  help  herself  now.  She  stepped  forward 
just  as  he  emerged  from  the  other  side  of  the  tree  and  ap- 
l)eared  erect  before  her.  It  was  Edward  Springrove, — till 
the  inverted  vision  met  his  eye,  dreaming  no  more  of  seeing 
his  Cytherea  there  than  of  seeing  the  dead  themselves. 

"Cytherea!" 

"Mr.  Springrove,"  she  returned,  in  a  low  voice,  across 
the  stream. 

He  was  the  first  to  speak  again. 

"  Since  we  have  met,  I  want  to  tell  you  something,  before 
we  become  quite  as  strangers  to  each  other." 

"  No — not  now — I  did  not  mean  to  speak — it  is  not  right, 
Edward."  She  spoke  hurriedly  and  turned  away  from  him, 
beating  the  air  with  her  hand. 

"  Not  one  common  word  of  explanation  ?  "  he  inijilored 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  249 

"  Don't  think  I  am  bad  enough  to  try  to  lead  you  astray. 
Well,  go— it  is  better." 

Their  eyes  met  again.  She  was  nearly  choked.  O  how 
she  longed — and  dreaded — to  hear  his  explanation  ! 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said,  desperately. 

"It  is  that  I  did  not  come  to  the  church  this  morning  in 
order  to  distress  you  ;  I  did  not,  Cytherea.  It  was  to  try  to 
speak  to  you  before  you  were—  married." 

He  stepi)ed  closer,  and  went  on,  "You  know  what  has 
taken  place  ?  Surely  you  do  ? — my  cousin  is  married,  and 
I  am  free." 

'•  Married — and  not  to  you  ?  "  Cytherea  faltered,  in  a 
weak  whisper. 

"  Yes,  she  was  married  yesterday  !  A  rich  man  had  ap- 
peared, and  she  jilted  me.  She  said  she  never  would  have 
jilted  a  stranger,  but  that  by  jilting  me,  she  only  exercised 
the  right  everybody  has  of  snubbing  their  own  relations. 
But  that's  nothing  now.  1  came  to  you  to  ask  once  more  if 
.   .   .  .   But  I  was  too  late." 

"  But,  Edward,  what's  that,  what's  that  !  "  she  cried  in  an 
agony  of  reproach.  "  Why  did  you  leave  me  to  return  to 
her  ?  Why  did  you  write  me  that  cruel,  cruel  letter  that 
nearly  killed  nje  !  " 

"  Cytherea  !  Why,  you  had  grown  to  love — like — Mr. 
Manston,  and  how  could  you  be  anything  to  me — or  care 
for  me  ?     Surely  I  acted  naturally  ?  " 

"  O  no — never  !  I  loved  you — only  you — not  him — al- 
ways you  ! — till  lately  ....  I  try  to  love  him  now." 

"But  that  can't  be  correct !  Miss  Aldclyfife  told  me  that 
you  wanted  to  hear  no  moie  of  me — proved  it  to  me  I " 
said  Edward. 

"  Never  !  she  couldn't." 

''She  did,  Cytherea.  And  she  sent  me  a  letter — a  lo\e- 
letter  you  wrote  to  Mr.  Manston." 

*'  A  love-letter  I  wrote  ?  " 

"Yes,  a  love-letter — you  could  not  meet  him  just  then, 
you  said  you  were  sorry,  but  the  emotion  you  had  felt  with 
him  made  you  forgetful  of  realities." 

The  strife  of  thought  in  the  unhappy  girl  who  listened  to . 
this  distortion  of  her  meaning,  could  lind  no  vent  in  words. 
And  then  there  followed  the  slow  revelation  in  return,  bring 
11* 


250 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


ing  with  it  all  the  misery  of  an  explanation  which  comes  too 
late.  The  question  whether  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  schemer  or 
dupe  was  almost  passed  over  by  Cytherea,  under  the  imme- 
diate oppressiveness  of  her  despair  in  the  sense  that  her  po- 
sition was  irretrievable. 

Not  so  Springrove.  He  saw  through  all  the  cimning  half- 
misrepresentations — worse  than  downright  lies — which  had 
just  been  sufficient  to  turn  the  scale  both  with  him  and  with 
her ;  and  from  the  bottom  of  his  soul  he  cursed  the  woman  and 
man  who  had  brought  all  this  agony  upon  him  and  his  Love. 

But  he  could  not  add  more  misery  to  the  future  of  the 
poor  child  by  revealing  too  much.  The  whole  scheme  she 
should  never  know. 

.  "I  was  inditferent  to  my  own  future,"  Edward  said,  "and 
was  urged  to  promise  adherence  to  my  engagement  with  my 
cousin  Adelaide  by  Miss  Aldclyffe  :  now  you  are  married  I 
cannot  tell  you  how,  but  it  was  on  account  of  my  father. 
Being  forbidden  to  think  of  you,  what  did  1  care  about  any- 
thing ?  My  new  thought  that  you  still  loved  me  was  first 
raised  by  what  my  father  said  in  the  letter  announcing  my 
cousin's  marriage.  He  said  that  although  you  were  to  be 
married  on  Old  Christmas  Day — that  is  to-morrow — he  had 
noticed  your  aj^pearance  with  pity  ;  he  thought  you  loved  me 
still.  It  was  enough  for  me — I  came  down  by  the  earliest 
morning  train,  thinking  I  could  see  you  some  time  to-day, 
the  day,  as  I  thought,  before  your  marriage,  hoi)ing,  but 
hardly  daring  to  hope,  that  you  might  be  induced  to  marry 
me.  I  hurried  from  the  station  ;  when  I  reached  the  bot- 
tom of  Church  Lane  I  saw  idlers  about  the  church,  and  the 
private  gate  leading  to  the  House  open.  I  ran  into  the 
church  by  the  north  door,  and  saw  you  come  out  of  the  ves- 
try ;  I  was  too  late.  I  have  now  told  you.  I  was  compelled 
to  tell  you.  O,  my  lost  darling,  now  I  shall  live  content — 
or  die  content !  " 

"  I  am  to  blame,  Edward,  I  am,"  she  said,  mournfully  ; 
"  I  was  taught  to  dread  ])auperism  ;  my  nights  were  made 
sleepless ;  there  was  continually  reiterated  in  my  ears  till  I 
beUeved  it: — 

"  'The  world  and  its  ways  have  a  certain  worth. 
And  to  press  a  point  where  these  oppose 
Were  a  simple  policy.' 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


251 


"But  I  will  say  nothing  about  who  influenced — who  per- 
suaded. The  act  is  mine  after  all.  Edward,  I  married  to 
escape  dependence  for  my  bread  upon  the  whim  of  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  or  others  like  her.  It  was  clearly  represented  to 
me  that  dependence  is  bearable  if  we  have  another  place 
which  we  can  call  home  ;  but  to  be  a  dependent  and  to  have 
no  other  spot  for  the  heart  to  anchor  upon — O  it  is  mourn- 
ful and  harassing !  .  .  .  .  But  that  without  which  all  per- 
suasion would  have  been  as  air,  was  added  by  my  miserable 
conviction  that  you  were  false  ;  that  did  it,  that  turned  me  ! 
You  were  to  be  considered  as  nobody  to  me,  and  Mr.  Man- 
ston  was  invariably  kind.  Well,  the  deed  is  done — I  must 
abide  by  it.  I  shall  never  let  him  know  that  I  do  not  love 
him — never.  If  things  had  only  remained  as  they  seemed 
to  be,  if  you  had  really  forgotten  me  and  married  another 
woman,  I  could  have  borne  it  better.  I  wish  I  did  not 
know  the  truth  as  I  know  it  now  !  But  our  life,  what  is  it  ? 
Let  us  be  brave,  Edward,  and  live  out  our  few  remaining 
years  with  dignity.  They  will  not  be  long.  O  I  hope  they 
will  not  be  long  ! Now,  good-by,  good-by  ! " 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  near  and  touch  you  once,  just  once," 
said  Springrove,  in  a  voice  which  he  vainly  endeavored  to 
keep  firm  and  clear. 

They  looked  at  the  river,  then  into  it ;  a  shoal  of  minnows 
were  floating  ov*er  the  sandy  bottom,  like  the  black  dashes 
on  miniver ;  though  narrow,  the  stream  was  deep,  and  there 
was  no  bridge. 

"  Cytherea,  reach  out  your  hand  that  I  may  just  touch  it 
with  mine." 

She  stepped  to  the  brink  and  stretched  out  her  hand  and 
fingers  towards  his,  but  not  into  them.  The  river  was  too 
wide. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Cytherea,  her  voice  broken  by  agita- 
tion, "  I  must  be  going.  God  bless  and  keep  you,  my 
Edward  !     God  bless  you ! " 

"  I  must  touch  you,  I  must  press  your  hand,"  he  said. 

They  came  near — nearer — nearer  still — their  fingers  met. 
There  was  a  long  firm  clasp,  so  close  and  still  that  each 
hand  could  fell  the  other's  pulse  throbbing  beside  its  own. 

"  My  Cytherea  !  my  stolen  pet  lamb  !  " 

She  glanced  a  mute  farewell  from   her  large  perturbed 


252 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


eyes,  turned,  and  ran  up  the  garden  without  looking  back 
All  was  over  between  them.  The  river  flowed  on  as  quietly 
and  obtusely  as  ever,  and  the  minnows  gathered  again  in 
their  favorite  spot  as  if  they  had  never  been  disturbed. 

Nobody  in-doors  guessed  from  her  countenance  and  bear- 
ing that  her  heart  was  near  to  breaking  with  the  intensity  of 
the  misery  which  gnawed  there.  At  these  times  a  woman 
does  not  faint,  or  weep,  or  scream,  as  she  will  in  the  mo- 
ment of  sudden  shocks.  When  lanced  by  a  mental  agony 
of  such  refined  and  special  torture  that  it  is  indescribable  by 
men's  words,  she  moves  among  her  acquaintances  much  as 
before,  and  contrives  so  to  cast  her  actions  in  the  old  moulds, 
that  she  is  only  considered  to  be  rather  duller  than  usual. 


§  5.  Half-past  two  to  five  d clock  p.  m. 

Owen  accompanied  the  newly  married  couple  to  the  rail- 
way station,  and  in  his  anxiety  to  see  the  last  of  his  sister, 
left  the  brougham  and  stood  upon  his  crutches  whilst  the 
train  was  starting. 

When  the  husband  and  wife  were  about  to  enter  the  rail- 
way carriage  they  saw  one  of  the  porters  looking  frequently 
and  furtively  at  them.  He  was  pale,  and  apparently  very 
ill. 

"  Look  at  that  poor  sick  man,"  said  Cytherea,  compas- 
sionately, "  surely  he  ought  not  to  be  here." 

"  He's  been  very  queer  to-day,  madam,  very  queer," 
another  porter  answered.  "  He  do  hardly  hear  when  he's 
spoken  to,  and  d'  seem  giddy,  or  as  if  something  was  on  his 
mind.  He's  been  like  it  for  this  month  past,  but  nothing  so 
bad  as  he  is  to-day," 

"  Poor  thing." 

She  could  not  resist  an  innate  desire  to  do  some  just  thing 
on  this  most  deceitful  and  wretched  day  of  her  life.  Going 
up  to  him  she  gave  him  money,  and  told  him  to  send  to  the 
'old  mannor-house  for  wine  or  whatever  he  wanted. 

The  train  moved  off  as  the  trembling  man  was  murmuring 
his  incoherent  thanks.  Owen  waved  his  hand  ;  Cytherea 
smiled  back  to  him  as  if  it  were  unknown  to  her  that  she 
wept  all  the  while. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


255 


Owen  was  driven  back  to  the  Old  House.  But  he  could 
not  rest  in  the  lonely  place.  His  conscience  began  to  re- 
proach him  for  having  forced  on  the  marriage  of  his  sister 
with  a  little  too  much  peremptoriness.  Taking  up  his 
crutches  he  went  out  of  doors  and  wandered  about  the 
muddy  roads  with  no  object  in  view  save  that  of  getting  rid 
of  time. 

The  clouds  which  had  hung  so  low  and  densely  during  the 
day  cleared  from  the  west  just  now  as  the  sun  was  setting, 
calling  forth  a  weakly  twitter  from  a  few  small  birds.  Owen 
crawled  down  the  path  to  the  waterfall,  and  lingered  there- 
about till  the  solitude  of  (he  place  oppressed  him,  when  he 
turned  back  and  into  the  road  to  the  village.  He  was  sad ; 
he  said  to  himself, — 

"  If  there  is  ever  any  meaning  in  those  feelings  which  are 
called  presentiments — and  I  don't  believe  there  is — there 
will  be  in  mine  to-day  ....     Poor  little  Cytherea  !  " 

At  that  moment  the  last  low  rays  of  the  sun  touched  the 
head  and  shoulders  of  a  man  who  was  approaching,  and 
showed  him  up  to  Owen's  view.  It  was  old  Mr.  Springrove. 
They  had  grown  familiar  with  each  other  by  reason  of  Owen's 
visits  to  Knapwater  during  the  past  year.  The  farmer  in- 
quired how  Owen's  foot  was  progressing,  and  was  glad  to 
see  him  so  nimble  again. 

"  How  is  your  son  ?  "  said  Owen  mechanically. 

"  He  is  at  home,  sitting  by  the  fire,"  said  the  farmer,  in  a 
sad  voice.  "  This  mornen  he  slipped  in-doors  from  God 
knows  where,  and  there  he  sits  and  mopes,  and  thinks  and 
thinks,  and  presses  his  head  so  hard,  that  I  can't  help  feelen 
for  him." 

"  Is  he  married  ?  "  said  Owen.  Cytherea  had  feared  to 
tell  him  of  the  interview  in  the  garden. 

"No.  I  can't  quite  understand  how  the  matter  rests. 
.  .  .  Ah !  Edward,  too,  who  started  with  such  promise  ; 
that  he  should  now  have  become  such  a  careless  fellow — not 
a  month  in  one  place.  There,  Mr.  Graye,  I  know  what  it  is 
mainly  owing  to.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  heart  affair,  he 
might  have  done — but  the  less  said  about  him  the  better.  I 
don't  know  what  we  should  have  done  if  Miss  Aldclyffe  had 
insisted  upon  the  conditions  of  the  leases.  Your  brother-in- 
law  the  steward  had  a  hand  in  maken  it  light  for  us,  I  know, 


254 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


and  I  heartily  thank  him  for  it."     He  ceased  speaking,  and 
looked  round  at  the  sky. 

"Have  you  heard  o'  what's  happened?"  he  said  sud- 
denly ;   "  I  was  just  comen  out  to  learn  about  it." 

"  I  haven't  heard  of  anything." 

"It  is  somethifig  very  sejious,  though  I  don't  know  what 
All  I  know  is  what  I  heard  a  man  call  out  by-now — that  it 
very  much  concerns  somebody  who  lives  in  the  ]:)arish." 

It  seenjs  singular  enough,  even  to  minds  who  have  no 
dim  beliefs  in  adumbration  and  presentiment,  that  at  that 
moment  not  the  shadow  of  a  thought  crossed  Owen's  mind 
that  the  somebody  whom  the  matter  concerned  might  be 
himself,  or  any  belonging  to  him.  The  event  about  to  trans- 
pire was  as  portentous  to  the  woman  whose  welfare  was 
more  dear  to  him  than  his  own,  as  any,  short  of  death  itself, . 
could  possibly  be  ;  and  ever  afterwards,  when  he  considered 
the  effect  of  the  knowledge  the  next  half-hour  conveyed  to 
his  brain,  even  his  practical  good  sense  could  not  refrain 
from  wonder  that  he  should  have  walked  toward  the  village, 
after  hearing  those  words  of  the  farmer,  in  so  leisurely  and 
unconcerned  a  way.  "  How  unutterably  mean  must  my 
intelligence  have  appeared  to  the  eye  of  a  foreseeing  God," 
he  frequently  said  in  after  time.  "  Columbus  on  the  eve 
of  his  discovery  of  a  world  was  not  so  contemptibly  un- 
aware." 

After  a  few  additional  words  of  commoni)lace,  the  farmer 
left  him,  and  as  has  been  said,  Owen  proceded  slowly  and  in- 
differently towards  the  village. 

The  laboring  men  had  just  left  work,  and  passed  the  park 
gate,  which  opened  into  the  street  as  Owen  came  down  tow- 
ards it.  They  went  along  in  a  drift,  earnestly  talking,  and 
w^ere  finally  about  to  turn  into  their  respective  doorways. 
But  upon  seeing  him  they  looked  significantly  at  one  another, 
and  paused.  He  came  into  the  road,  on  that  side  of  the 
village  green  which  was  opposite  the  row  of  cottages,  and 
turned  round  to  the  right.  When  Owen  turned,  all  eyes 
turned  ;  one  or  two  men  went  hurriedly  in-doors,  and  after- 
wards appeared  at  the  doorstep,  with  their  wives,  who  also 
contemplated  him,  talking  as  they  looked.  They  seemed 
uncertain  how  to  act  in  some  matter. 

"  If  they  want  me,  surely  they  will  call  me,"  he  thought. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


255 


wondering  more  and  more.  He  could  no  longer  doubt  that 
he  was  connected  with  the  subject  of  their  discourse. 

The  first  who  approached  him  was  a  boy. 

"  What  has  occurred  ?"  said  Owen. 

"  Oh,  a  man  ha'  got  crazy-religious,  and  sent  for  the 
pa'son." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  wished  he  was  dead,  he  said,  and  he's  al- 
most out  of  his  mind  wi'  wishen  it  so  much.  That  was  be- 
fore Mr.  Raunham  came." 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  said  Owen. 

"  Joseph  Chinney,  one  of  the  railway  porters ;  he  used  to 
be  night  porter." 

"  Ah  !  the  man  who  was  ill  this  afternoon  ;  by  the  way,  he 
was  told  to  come  to  the  house  for  something,  but  he  hasn't 
been.  But  has  anything  else  happened — anything  that  con- 
cerns the  wedding  to-day  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

Concluding  that  the  connection  which  had  seemed  to 
be  traced  between  himself  and  the  event  must  in  some 
way  have  arisen  from  Cythrea's  friendliness  towards  the  man, 
Owen  turned  about  and  went  homewards  in  a  much  (juieter 
frame  of  mind,  yet  scarcely  satisfied  with  the  solution.  The 
route  he  had  chosen  led  through  the  dairy-yard,  and  he  opened 
the  gate. 

Five  minutes  before  this  point  of  time,  Edward  Spring- 
rove  was  looking  over  one  of  his  father's  fields  at  an  outly- 
ing hamlet  of  three  or  four  cottages  some  mile  and  a  half 
distant.     A  turnpike  gate  was  close  by  the  gate  of  the  field. 

The  carrier  to  Froominster  came  up  as  Edward  stei)ped 
into  the  road,  ami  jumped  down  from  the  van  to  pay  toll. 
He  recognized  Springrove.  "  This  is  a  pretty  set-to  in  your 
place,  sir,"  he  said.     "  You  don't  know  about  it,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  said  Springrove. 

The  carrier  paid  his  dues,  came  up  to  Edward,  and  spoke 
ten  words  in  a  confidential  whisper  ;  then  sprang  upon  the 
shafts  of  his  vehicle,  gave  a  clinching  nod  of  significance  to 
Springrove,  and  rattled  away. 

Jidwartl  turned  pale  with  the  intelligence.  His  first 
thought  was,  "  Bring  her  home  1  " 

The  next — did  Owen  Graye  know  what  had  been  discov- 


256  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

ered  ?  He  probably  did  by  that  time,  but  no  risk  of  prob- 
ability must  be  run  by  a  woman  he  loved  dearer  than  all 
the  world  besides.  He  would  at  any  rate  make  perfectly 
sure  that  her  brother  was  in  possession  of  the  knowledge,  by 
telling  it  him  with  his  own  lips. 

Off  he  ran  in  the  direction  of  the  old  manor-house. 

The  path  was  across  arable  land,  and  was  ploughed  up 
with  the  rest  of  the  field  every  autumn,  after  which  it  was 
trodden  out  afresh.  The  thaw  had  so  loosened  the  soft 
earth,  that  lumps  of  stiff  mud  were  lifted  by  his  feet  at  every 
leap  he  took,  and  flung  against  him  by  his  rapid  motion, 
as  it  were  doggedly  impeding  him,  and  increasing  tenfold 
the  customary  effort  of  running. 

But  he  ran  on — up  hill  and  down  hill,  the  same  pace 
alike — like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud.  His  nearest  direction 
too,  like  Owen's,  was  through  the  dairy-barton,  and  as  Owen 
entered  it  he  saw  the  figure  of  Edward  rapidly  descending 
the  opposite  hill,  at  a  distance  of  two  or  three  hundred 
yards.     Owen  advanced  amid  the  cows. 

The  dairyman,  who  had  hitherto  been  talking  loudly  on 
some  absorbing  subject  to  the  maids  and  men  milking 
around  him,  turned  his  face  towards  the  head  of  the  cow 
when  Owen  passed,  and  ceased  speaking. 

Owen  approached  him  and  said, 

"  A  singular  thing  has  happened,  I  hear.  The  man  is 
not  insane,  I  suppose?" 

"  Not  he  ;  he's  sensible  enough,"  said  the  dairyman,  and 
paused.  He  was  a  man  noisy  with  his  associates,  stolid  and 
taciturn  with  strangers. 

"  Is  it  true  that  he  is  Chinney  the  railway  porter  ?  " 

"That's  the  man,  sir."  The  maids  and  men  sitting  under 
the  cows  were  all  attentively  listening  to  this  discourse,  milk- 
ing irregularly,  and  softly  directing  the  jets  against  the  sides 
of  the  pail. 

Owen  could  contain  himself  no  longer,  much  as  his  mind 
dreaded  anything  of  the  nature  of  ridicule.  "  The  people  all 
seem  to  look  at  me  as  if  something  seriously  concerned  me  ; 
is  it  this  stupid  matter,  or  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Surely,  sir,  you  know  better  than  anybody  else  if  such  a 
strange  thing  concerns  you." 

"What  strange  thing?" 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


257 


"  Don't  you  know  !     His  confessing  to  Parson  Raunhani." 

"  What  did  he  confess  ;  tell  me." 

"If  you  really  ha'n't  heard,  'tis  this:  He  was  as  usual 
on  duty  at  the  station  on  the  night  of  the  fire  last  year,  other- 
wise he  wouldn't  ha'  known  it." 

"  Known  what  ?  for  God's  sake,  tell,  man." 

But  at  this  instant  the  two  opposite  gates  of  the  dairy- 
yard,  one  on  the  east,  and  the  other  on  the  west  side, 
slammed  almost  simultaneously. 

The  rector  from  one,  Springrove  from  the  other,  came 
striding  across  the  barton. 

Edward  was  nearest,  and  spoke  first.  He  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  Your  sister  is  not  legally  married  !  His  first  wife  is 
still  living  !     How  it  comes  out  I  don't  know  !  " 

"O  here  you  are  at  last,  Mr.  Graye,  thank  Heaven!" 
said  the  rector,  breathlessly.  "  I  have  been  to  the  Old 
House  and  then  to  Miss  Aldclyflfe's  looking  for  you — some- 
thing very  extraordinary."  He  beckoned  to  Owen,  after- 
wards included  Springrove  in  his  glance,  and  the  three 
stepped  aside  together. 

*'  A  porter  at  the  station.  He  was  a  curious,  nervous  man. 
He  had  been  in  a  strange  state  all  day,  but  he  wouldn't  go 
home.  Your  sister  was  kind  to  him,  it  seems,  this  afternoon. 
When  she  and  her  husband  had  gone,  he  went  on  with  his 
work,  shifting  luggage-vans.  Well,  he  got  in  the  way,  as  if 
he  were  quite  lost  to  what  was  going  on,  and  they  sent  him 
home  at  last.  Then  he  wished  to  see  me.  I  went  directly. 
There  was  something  on  his  mind,  he  said,  and  told  it. 
About  the  time  when  the  fire  of  last  November  twelvemonth 
was  got  under,  whilst  he  was  by  himself  in  the  porter's  room, 
almost  asleep,  somebody  came  to  the  station  and  tried  to 
open  the  door.  He  went  out  and  found  the  person  to  be 
the  lady  he  had  accompanied  to  Carriford  earlier  in  the  ev- 
ening, Mrs.  Mansion.  She  asked,  when  would  be  another 
train  to  London  ?  The  first  the  next  morning,  he  told  her, 
was  at  a  quarter  past  six  o'clock  from  Creston,  but  that  it 
was  express,  and  didn't  stop  at  Carriford  Road — it  didn't 
stop  till  it  got  to  Froominster.  *  How  far  is  it  to  Froomin- 
ster  ?  '  she  said.  '  Four  miles,'  he  said.  She  thanked  him, 
and  went  away  up  the  line.  In  a  short  time  she  ran  back 
and  took  out  her  purse.    '  Don't  on  any  account  say  a  word 


258  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

in  the  village  or  anywhere  that  1  have  been  here,  or  a  single 
breath  about  me — I'm  ashamed  ever  to  have  come.'  He 
promised  ;  she  took  out  two  sovereigns.  '  Swear  it  on  the 
testament  in  the  waiting  room,'  she  said,  '  and  I'll  pay  you 
these.'  He  got  the  book,  took  an  oath  upon  it,  received  the 
money,  and  she  left  him.  He  was  off  duty  at  half-past  five 
He  has  kept  silence  all  through  the  intervening  time  till  now, 
but  lately  the  knowledge  he  possessed  weighed  heavily  upon 
his  conscience  and  weak  mind.  Yet  the  nearer  came  the 
wedding-day,  the  more  he  feared  to  tell.  The  actual  mar- 
riage filled  him  with  remorse.  He  says  your  sister's  kind- 
ness afterwards  was  like  a  knife  going  through  his  heart.  He 
thought  he  had  ruined  her." 

"  But  whatever  can  be  done  ?  Why  didn't  he  speak 
sooner  ! "  cried  Owen. 

"  He  actually  called  at  my  house  twice  yesterday,"  the 
rector  continued,  "resolved,  it  seems,  to  unburden  his  mind. 
I  was  out  both  times — he  left  no  message,  and  they  say  he 
looked  relieved  that  his  object  was  defeated.  Then  he  says 
he  resolved  to  come  to  you  at  the  Old  House  last  night — 
started,  reached  the  door,  and  dreaded  to  knock — and  then 
went  home  again." 

"  Here  will  be  a  tale  for  the  newsmongers  of  the  county," 
said  Owen  bitterl)'.  "  The  idea  of  his  not  opening  his  mouth 
sooner — the  criminality  of  the  thing  ! " 

"  Ah,  that's  the  inconsistency  of  a  weak  nature.  But  now 
that  it  is  put  to  us  in  this  way,  how  much  more  probable  it 
seems  that  she  should  have  escaped  than  have  been  burnt — " 

"You  will  of  course  go  straight  to  Mr.  Manston,  and  ask 
him  what  it  all  means?"  Edward  interrupted. 

"  Of  course  I  shall !  Manston  has  no  right  to  carry  oft 
my  sister  unless  he's  her  husband,"  said  Owen ;  "  I  shall  go 
and  separate  them." 

"Certainly  you  will,"  said  the  rector, 

"  Where's  the  man  ?  " 

"  In  his  cottage." 

"  'Tis  no  use  going  to  him,  either.  I  must  go  off"  at  once 
and  overtake  them — lay  the  case  before  Manston,  and  ask 
him  for  additional  and  certain  proofs  of  his  first  wife's  death. 
An  up-train  passes  soon,  I  think." 

"  Where  have  they  gone?"  said  Edward. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  259 

"  To  Paris — as  far  as  Southampton  this  afternoon,  to  pro- 
ceed to-morrow  morning. 

"  Where  in  Southampton  ?  " 

"I  really  don't  know — some  hotel.  1  only  have  their 
Paris  address.  But  I  shall  find  them  by  making  a  few  in- 
quiries." 

The  rector  had  in  die  meantime  been  taking  out  his  pocket- 
book,  and  now  opened  it  at  the  first  page,  whereon  it  was  his 
custom  every  month  to  gum  a  small  railway  time-table — cut 
from  the  local  newspaper. 

"  The  afternoon  express  is  just  gone,"  he  said,  holding  open 
the  page,  "and  the  next  train  to  Southam[)ton  passes  at  ten 
minutes  to  six  o'clock.  Now  it  wants — let  me  see — five-and- 
forty  minutes  to  that  time.  Mr.  Graye,  my  advice  is  that  you 
come  with  me  to  the  porter's  cottage,  where  I  will  shortly 
write  out  the  substance  of  what  he  has  said,  and  get  him  to 
sign  it.  You  will  then  have  far  better  grounds  for  interfering 
between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Manston  than  if  you  went  to  them 
with  a  mere  hearsay  story." 

The  suggestion  seemed  a  good  one.  "  Yes,  there  will  be 
time  before  the  train  starts,"  said  Owen. 

Edward  had  been  musing  restlessly. 

"  Let  me  go  to  Southampton  in  your  place,  on  account  of 
your  lameness  ?  "  he  said  suddenly  to  Graye. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  but  I  think  I  can  scarcely  ac- 
cept the  offer,"  returned  Owen  coldly.  "Mr.  Manston  is  an 
honorable  man,  and  I  had  much  better *see  him  myself" 

"  There  is  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Raunham,  "  that  the  death 
of  his  wife  was  fully  believed  in  by  himself." 

"  None  whatever,"  said  Owen;  "and  the  news  must  be 
broken  to  him,  and  the  question  of  other  proofs  asked  in  a 
friendly  way.  It  would  not  do  for  Mr.  Springrove  to  appear 
in  the  case  at  all."  He  still  spoke  rather  coldly  ;  the  recol- 
lection of  the  attachment  between  his  sister  and  Edward  was 
not  a  pleasant  one  to  him. 

"  You  will  never  find  them,"  said  Edward.  "  You  have 
never  been  to  Southampton,  and  I  know  every  house  there." 

"  That  makes  little  difference,"  said  the  rector,  "  he  will 
have  a  cab.  Certainly  Mr.  Graye  is  the  proper  man  to  go 
on  the  errand." 

"  Stay;  I'll  telegraph  to  ask  them  to  meet  me  when  I  ar- 


26o  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

rive  at  the  terminus,"  said  Owen  ;  "  that  is,  if  their  tiain  has 
not  already  arrived." 

Mr.  Raiinham  pulled  out  his  pocket-book  again.  "  The 
two-thirty  train  reached  Southampton  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
ago,"  he  said. 

It  was  too  late  to  catch  them  at  the  station.  Neverthe- 
less, the  rector  suggested  that  it  would  be  worth  while  to  di- 
rect a  message  to  "  all  the  respectable  hotels  in  Southamp- 
ton," on  the  chance  of  its  finding  them,  and  thus  saving  a 
deal  of  personal  labor  to  Owen  in  searching  about  the  place. 

"  I'll  go  and  telegraph,  whilst  you  return  to  the  man,"  said 
Edward  ;  an  offer  which  was  accepted.  Graye  and  the  rec- 
tor then  turned  off  in  the  direction  of  the  porter's  cottage. 

P2dward,  to  dispatch  the  message  at  once,  hurriedly  fol- 
lowed the  road  towards  the  station,  still  restlessly  thinking. 
All  Owen's  proceedings  were  based  on  the  assumption,  nat- 
ural under  the  circumstances,  of  Manston's  good  faith,  and 
that  he  would  readily  acquiesce  in  any  arrangement  which 
should  clear  up  the  mystery.  "  But,"  thought  Edward,  "  sup- 
pose— and  Heaven  forgive  me,  I  cannot  help  supposing  it — 
that  iManston  is  not  that  honorable  man,  what  will  a  young 
and  inexperienced  fellow  like  Owen  do  ?  Will  he  not  be 
hoodwinked  by  some  specious  story  or  another,  framed  to 
last  till  Manston  gets  tired  of  poor  Cylherea  ?  And  then 
the  disclosure  of  the  truth  will  ruin  and  blacken  both  their 
futures  irremediably." 

However,  he  proceeded  to  execute  his  commission.  This 
he  put  in  the  form  of  a  simple  request  from  Owen  to  Man- 
ston,  that  Manston  would  come  to  the  Southampton  platform 
and  wait  for  Owen's  arrival,  as  he  valued  his  reputation. 
The  message  was  directed  as  the  rector  had  suggested,  Ed- 
ward guaranteeing  to  the  clerk  who  sent  it  off  that  every  ex- 
pense connected  with  the  search  would  be  paid. 

No  sooner  had  the  telegram  been  dispatched  than  his  heart 
sank  within  him  at  the  want  of  foresight  shown  in  sending  it. 
Had  Manston,  all  the  time,  a  knowledge  that  his  first  wife 
lived,  the  telegram  would  be  a  forewarning  which  might  en- 
able him  to  defeat  Owen  still  more  signally. 

Whilst  the  machine  was  still  giving  off  its  multitudinous 
series  of  raps,  Edward  heard  a  powerful  rush  under  the  shed 
outside,  followed  by  a  long  sonorous  creak.     It  was  a  train 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  26 1 

of  some  sort,'  stealing  softly  into  the  station,  and  it  was  an 
iip-train.  There  was  the  ring  of  a  bell.  It  was  ceitainly  a 
passenger-train. 

Yet  the  booking-office  window  was  closed. 

"Ho,  ho,  John,  seventeen  minutes  after  time,  and  only 
three  stations  up  the  line.  The  incline  again  ?  "  The  voice 
was  the  station-master's,  and  the  reply  seemed  to  come  frou'> 
the  guard. 

"  Yes,  the  other  side  of  the  tunnel.  The  thaw  has  made 
it  all  in  a  ])erfect  cloud  of  fog,  and  the  rails  are  as  slippery 
as  glass.     We  had  to  bring  them  through  the  tunnel  at  twice." 

"Anybody  else  for  the  four-forty-five  express  ?  "  the  voice 
continued.  The  few  passengers,  having  crossed  over  to  the 
other  side  long  before  this  time,  had  taken  their  places  at 
once. 

A  conviction  suddenly  broke  in  upon  Edward's  mind  ; 
then  a  wish  overwhelmed  him.  The  conviction — as  start- 
ling as  it  was  sudden — was  that  Mansion  was  a  villain,  who 
at  some  earlier  time  had  discovered  that  his  wife  lived,  and 
had  bribed  her  to  keep  out  of  sight,  that  he  might  possess 
Cytherea.  The  wish  was — to  i)roceed  at  once  by  this  very 
train  that  was  starting,  find  Manston  before  he  would  expect 
from  the  words  of  the  telegram  (if  he  got  it),  that  anybody 
from  Carriford  could  be  with  him — charge  him  boldly  with 
the  crime,  and  trust  to  his  consequent  confusion  (if  he  were 
guilty),  for  a  solution  of  the  extraordinary  riddle,  and  the  re- 
lease of  Cytherea ! 

The  ticket-office  had  been  locked  up  at  the  expiration  of 
the  time  at  which  the  train  was  due.  Rushing  out  as  the 
guard  blew  his  whistle,  Edward  opened  the  door  of  a  car- 
riage and  leaped  in.  The  train  moved  along,  and  he  was  soon 
out  of  sight. 

Springrove  had  long  since  passed  that  peculiar  line  which 
lies  across  the  course  of  falling  in  love — if  indeed  it  may  not 
be  called  the  initial  itself  of  the  complete  passion — a  longing 
to  cherish  ;  when  the  woman  is  shifted  in  a  man's  mind  from 
the  region  of  mere  admiration  to  the  region  of  warm  fellow- 
ship. At  this  assumption  of  her  nature,  she  changes  to  him 
in  tone,  hue,  and  expression.  All  about  the  loved  one  that 
said  "  Hex"  before,  says  "Us"  now.  Eyes  that  were  to  be 
subdued  become  eyes  to  be  feared  for ;  a  brain  that  was  to  be 


262  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

probed  by  cynicism  becomes  a  brain  that  is  to  be  tenderl)r 
assisted  ;  feet  that  were  to  be  tested  in  the  dance  become 
feet  that  are  not  to  be  distressed  ;  the  once-criticised  accent, 
manner,  and  dress,  become  the  clients  of  a  special  pleader. 


6.  Five  to  eight  d clock  p.  m. 


Now  that  he  was  fairly  on  the  track,  and  had  begun  to 
cool  down,  Edward  remembered  that  he  had  nothing  to  show 
— no  legal  authority  whatever  to  question  Manston,  or  inter- 
fere between  him  and  Cytherea  as  husband  and  wife.  He 
now  saw  the  wisdom  of  the  rector  in  obtaining  a  signed  con- 
fession from  the  porter.  The  document  would  not  be  a 
death-bed  confession  —perhaps  not  worth  anything  legally — - 
but  it  would  be  held  by  Owen,  and  he  alone,  as  Cytherea's 
natural  guardian,  could  separate  them  on  the  mere  ground  of 
an  unproved  probability,  or  what  might  perhaps  be  called  the 
hallucination  of  an  idiot.  Edward  liimself,  however,  was  as 
firmly  convinced  as  the  rector  had  been  of  the  truth  of  the 
man's  story,  and  paced  backward  and  forward  the  solitary 
compartment  as  the  train  wound  tiirough  the  dark  heathery 
plains,  the  mazy  woods,  and  moaning  coppices,  as  resolved 
as  ever  to  pounce  on  Manston,  and  charge  him  with  the 
crime  during  the  critical  interval  between  the  reception  of 
the  telegram  and  tlie  hour  at  which  Owen's  train  would  arrive 
— trusting  to  circumstances  for  what  he  should  say  and  do 
afterwards,  but  making  up  his  mind  to  be  a  ready  second  to 
Owen  in  any  emergency  that  might  arise. 

At  thirty-three  minutes  past  seven  he  stood  on  the  plat- 
form of  the  station  at  Southampton  :  a  clear  hour  before  the 
train  containing  Owen  could  possibly  arrive. 

Making  a  few  inquiries  here,  but  too  impatient  to  pursue 
his  investigation  carefully  and  inductively,  he  went  into  the 
town. 

At  the  expiration  of  another  half-hour  he  had  visited  seven 
hotels  and  inns,  large  and  small,  asking  the  same  questions 
at  each,  and  always  receiving  the  same  reply — nobody  of  that 
name,  or  answering  to  that  description,  had  been  there.  A 
boy  from  the  telegraph-office  had  called,  asking  for  the  same 
persons,  if  they  recollected  rightly. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  263 

He  reflected  awhile,  struck  again  by  a  painful  thought  that 
they  might  possibly  have  decided  to  cross  the  Channel  by  the 
night  boat.  Then  he  hastened  off  to  another  quarter  of  the 
town  to  pursue  his  inquiries  among  hotels  of  the  more  old- 
fashioned  and  quiet  class.  His  stained  and  weary  appear- 
ance obtained  for  him  but  a  modicum  of  civility  wherever  he 
went,  which  made  his  task  yet  more  difficult.  He  called  at 
three  several  houses  in  this  neighborhood,  with  the  same  re- 
sult as  before.  He  entered  the  door  of  the  fourth  house  whilst 
the  clock  of  the  nearest  church  was  striking  eight. 

"  Have  a  tall  gentleman  named  Manston,  and  a  young  wife 
arrived  here  this  evening  ?  "  he  asked  again,  in  words  which 
had  grown  odd  to  his  ears  from  very  familiarity. 

"  A  new-married  cou])le,  did  you  say  ?  " 

"They  are,  though  I  didn't  say  so." 

"  They  have  taken  a  sitting-room  and  bedroom,  number 
thirteen." 

"  Are  they  in-doors  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.     Eliza!" 

"  Yes,  m'm." 

"See  if  number  thirteen  is  in — that  gentleman  and  hib 
wife." 

"  Yes,  m'm." 

"  Has  any  telegram  come  for  them  ?  "  said  Edward,  when 
the  maid  had  gone  on  her  errand. 

"No — nothing  that  I  know  of." 

"Somebody  did  come  and  ask  if  a  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Masters, 
or  some  such  name,  were  here  this  evening,"  said  another 
voice  from  the  back  of  the  bar-parlor. 

"  And  did  they  get  the  message  ?  " 

"  Of  course  they  did  not — they  were  not  here — they  didn't 
come  till  half-  an  -  hour  after  that.  The  man  who  made  inqui- 
ries left  no  message.  I  told  them  when  they  came  that  they, 
or  a  name  something  like  theirs,  had  been  asked  for,  but  they 
didn't  seem  to  understand  why  it  should  be,  and  so  the  mat- 
ter dropped." 

The  chamber-maid  came  back.  "The  gentleman  is  not 
in,  but  the  lady  is.     Who  shall  I  say  ?  " 

"  Nobody,"  said  Edward.  For  it  now  became  necessary 
to  reflect  upon  his  method  of  ])roceeding.  His  object  in 
finding  their  whereabouts — apart  from   the  wish  to   assist 


264  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Owen — had  been  to  see  Mansion,  ask  him  flatly  for  an  ex- 
planation, and  confirm  the  request  of  the  message  in  the 
presence  of  Cytherea — so  as  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  the 
steward's  palming  off  a  story  upon  Cytherea,  or  eluding  her 
brother  when  he  came.  But  here  were  two  important  modi- 
fications of  the  expected  condition  of  affairs.  The  telegram 
had  not  been  received,  and  Cytherea  was  in  the  house  alone. 

He  hesitated  as  to  the  propriety  of  intruding  upon  her  in 
Mansion's  absence.  Besides,  the  women  at  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs  would  see  him — his  intrusion  would  seem  odd — 
and  Manston  might  return  at  any  moment.  He  certainly 
might  call,  and  wait  for  Manston  with  the  accusation  upon 
his  tongue,  as  he  had  intended.  But  it  was  a  doubtful  course. 
That  idea  had  been  based  upon  the  assumption  that  Cytherea 
was  not  married.  If  the  first  wife  were  really  dead  after  all 
— and  he  felt  sick  at  the  thought — Cytherea  as  the  steward's 
wife  might  in  after  years — perhaps,  at  once — be  subjected  to 
indignity  and  cruelty  on  account  of  an  old  lover's  interfer- 
ence now. 

Yes,  perhaps  the  announcement  would  come  most  prop- 
erly and  safely  for  her  from  her  brother  Owen,  the  time  of 
whose  arrival  had  almost  expired. 

But,  on  turning  round,  he  saw  that  the  staircase  and  pas- 
sage were  quite  deserted.  He  and  his  errand  had  as  com- 
pletely died  from  the  minds  of  the  attendants  as  if  they  had 
never  been.  There  was  absolutely  nothing  between  him  and 
Cytherea's  presence.  Reason  was  powerless  now  ;  he  must 
see  her, — right  or  wrong,  fair  or  unfair  to  Manston,  offen- 
sive to  her  brother  or  no.  His  lips  must  be  the  first  to  tell 
the  alarming  story  to  her.  Who  loved  her  as  he  !  He  went 
back  lightly  through  the  hall,  up  the  stairs,  two  at  a  time, 
and  followed  the  corridor  till  he  came  to  the  door  numbered 
thirteen. 

He  knocked  softly  :  nobody  answered. 

There  was  no  time  to  lose  if  he  would  speak  to  Cytherea 
before  Manston  came.  He  turned  the  handle  of  tlie  door 
and  looked  in.  The  lamp  on  the  table  burned  low,  and 
showed  writing  materials  ojien  beside  it ;  the  chief  light  came 
from  the  fire,  the  direct  rays  of  which  were  obscured  by  a 
sweet  familiar  outline  of  head  and  shoulders — still  as  precious 
to  him  as  ever. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  26 S 


§  7.  ^  quarter  past  eight  c  clock  p.  in. 

There  is  an  attitude — c'.pproximatively  called  pensive — in 
which  the  soul  of  a  human  being,  and  especially  of  a  woman, 
dominates  outwardly  and  expresses  its  presence  so  strongly, 
that  the  intangible  essence  seems  more  apparent  than  the 
body  itself.  This  was  Cytherea's  expression  now.  What 
old  days  and  sunny  eves  at  Creston  Bay  was  she  picturing  ? 
Her  reverie  had  caused  her  not  to  notice  his  knock. 

"  Cytherea  !  "  he  said,  softly. 

She  let  drop  her  hand  and  turned  her  head,  evidently 
thinking  that  her  visitor  could  be  no  other  than  Manston, 
yet  puzzled  at  the  voice. 

There  was  no  preface  on  Springrove's  tongue  ;  he  forgot 
his  position — hers — that  he  had  come  to  ask  quietly  if 
Manston  had  other  proofs  of  being  a  widower — everything — 
and  jumped  to  a  conclusion. 

"  You  are  not  his  wife,  Cytherea — come  away,  he  has  a 
wife  living  ! "  he  cried  in  an  agitated  whisper.  "  Owen  will 
be  here  directly." 

She  started  up,  recognized  the  tidings  first,  the  bearer  of 
them  afterwards.  "  Not  his  wife  ? — Oh  what  is  it — what — 
who  is  living  ?  "  She  awoke  by  degrees.  "  What  must  I  do  ? 
Edward,  it  is  you !     Why  did  you  come  ?  where  is  Owen  ?  " 

"  What  has  Manston  shown  you  in  proof  of  the  death  of 
his  other  wife  ?     Tell  me  quick." 

"  Nothing — we  have  never  spoken  of  the  subject.  Where 
is  my  brother  Owen  ?     I  want  him,  I  want  him  ! " 

"  He  is  coming  by  and  by.  Come  to  the  station  to  meet 
him — do,"  implored  Spiingrove.  "If  Mr.  Manston  comes, 
he  will  keep  you  from  me  :  I  am  nobody,"  he  added  bitterly, 
feeling  the  reproach  her  words  had  faintly  shadowed  forth. 

"  Mr.  Manston  has  only  gone  out  to  post  a  letter  he  has 
just  written,"  she  said,  and  without  being  distinctly  cognizant 
of  the  action,  she  wildly  looked  for  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  and 
began  putting  them  on,  but  in  the  act  of  fastening  them  ut- 
tered a  spasmodic  cry. 

"  No,  I'll  not  go   out  with  you,"  she  said,  flinging  the 
Articles  down  again.     Running  to  the  door  she  flitted  along 
the  passage,  and  downstairs. 
12 


266  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  Give  me  a  private  room — quite  private,"  she  said 
breathlessly  to  some  one  below. 

"  Number  twelve  is  a  single  room,  madam,  and  unoccu- 
pied," said  some  tongue  in  astonishment. 

Without  waiting  for  any  person  to  show  her  into  it,  Cythe- 
rea  hurried  upstairs  again,  brushed  through  the  corridor, 
entered  the  room  specified,  and  closed  the  door.  Edward 
heard  her  sob  out : — 

"Nobody  but  Owen  shall  speak  to  me  :  nobody  !  " 

"  He  will  be  here  directly,"  said  Springrove,  close  against 
the  panel,  and  then  went  towards  the  stairs.  He  had  seen 
her ;  it  was  enough. 

He  descended,  stepped  into  the  street,  and  hastened  to 
meet  Owen  at  the  railway-station. 

As  for  the  poor  maiden  who  had  received  the  news,  she 
knew  not  what  to  think.  She  listened  till  the  echo  of  Ed- 
ward's footsteps  had  died  away  :  then  bowed  her  face  upon 
the  bed.  Her  sudden  impulse  had  been  to  escape  from 
sight.  Her  weariness  after  the  unwonted  strain,  mental  and 
bodily,  which  had  been  put  upon  her  by  the  scenes  she  had 
passed  through  during  the  long  day  rendered  her  much  more 
timid  and  shaken  by  her  position  than  she  would  naturally 
have  been.  She  thought  and  thought  of  that  single  fact 
which  had  been  told  her — that  the  first  Mrs.  Mansion  was 
still  living — till  her  brain  seemed  ready  to  burst  its  confine- 
ment with  excess  of  throbbing.  It  was  only  natural  that  she 
should,  by  degrees,  be  unable  to  separate  the  discovery, 
which  was  matter  of  fact,  from  the  suspicion  of  treachery  on 
her  husband's  part,  which  was  only  matter  of  inference.  And 
thus  there  arose  in  her  a  personal  fear  of  him, 

"  Suppose  he  should  come  in  now  and  murder  me  ! '" 
This  at  first  mere  frenzied  supposition,  grew  by  degrees  to 
a  definite  horror  of  his  presence,  and  especially  of  his  intense 
gaze.  Thus  she  raised  herself  to  a  heat  of  excitement,  which 
was  none  the  less  real  for  being  vented  in  no  cry  of  any  kind. 
No  :  she  could  not  meet  Manston's  eye  alone,  she  would  only 
see  him  in  her  brother's  company. 

Almost  delirious  with  this  idea,  she  ran  and  locked  the 
door  to  prevent  all  possibility  of  her  intentions  being  nul- 
lified, or  a  look  or  word  being  flung  at  her  by  anybody  whilst 
she  knew  not  what  she  was. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  26J 


§  8.  Half  past  eight  d clock  p.m. 

Then  Cythereafelt  her  way  amid  the  darkness  of  the  room 
till  she  came  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  where  she  searched  for 
the  bell-rope  and  gave  it  a  i^ull.  Her  summons  was  speedily 
answered  by  the  landlady  herself,  whose  curiosity  to  know 
the  meaning  of  these  strange  proceedings  knew  no  bounds. 
The  landlady  attempted  to  turn  the  handle  of  the  door. 
Cytherea  kept  the  door  locked.  "  Please  tell  Mr.  Manston 
when  he  comes  that  I  am  ill,"  she  said  from  the  inside, 
"  and  that  I  cannot  see  him." 

"Certainly  I  will,  madam,"  said  the  landlady.  "Won't 
you  have  a  fire  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Nor  a  light  ?  " 

"  1  don't  want  one,  thank  you." 

"  Nor  anything  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

The  landlady  withdrew,  thinking  her  visitor  half-insane. 

Manston  came  in  about  five  minutes  later,  and  went  at 
once  up  to  the  sitting-room,  fully  expecting  to  find  his  wife 
there.  He  looked  round,  rang,  and  was  told  the  words 
Cytherea  had  said,  that  she  was  too  ill  to  be  seen. 

"  She  is  in  number  twelve  room,"  added  the  maid. 

Manston  was  alarmed,  and  knocked  at  the  door.     "  Cy 
iherea?  " 

"  I  am  unwell  ;   I  cannot  see  you,"  she  said. 

"  Are  you  seriously  ill,  dearest  ?     Surely  not." 

"  No,  not  seriously." 

"  Let  me  come  in  ;  I  will  get  a  doctor." 

"No,  he  can't  see  me  either." 

"She  won't  open  the  door,  sir,  not  to  nobody  at  all!" 
said  the  chamber-maid  with  wonder-waiting  eyes. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  and  be  off!"  said  Manston  with  a 
snap. 

The  maid  vanished. 

"  Come,  Cytherea,  this  is  foohsh — indeed  it  is. — not  open- 
ing the  door I  cannot  comprehend  what  can  be  the 

matter  with  you.     Nor  can  a  doctor  either,  unless  he  sees 
you." 


268  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Her  voice  had  trembled  more  and  more  at  each  answer 
she  gave,  but  nothing  could  induce  her  to  come  out  and 
confront  him.  Hating  scenes,  Manston  went  back  to  the 
sitting-room,  greatly  irritated  and  perplexed. 

And  there  Cytherea  from  the  aejoining  room  could  hear 
him  pacing  up  and  down.  She  thought,  "  Suppose  he  insists 
upon  seeing  me — he  probably  may — and  will  burst  open  the 
door  !  "  This  notion  increased,  and  she  sank  into  a  corner 
in  a  half  somnolent  state,  but  with  ears  alive  to  the  slightest 
sound.  Reason  could  not  overthrow  the  delirious  fancy  that 
outside  her  door  stood  Manston  and  all  the  people  in  the 
hotel,  waiting  to  laugh  her  to  scorn. 


§  9.  Half-past  eight  to  eleven  p.  m. 

In  the  meantime,  Springrove  was  pacing  up  and  down  the 
arrival  platform  of  the  railway  station. 

Half-past  eight  o'clock — the  time  at  which  Owen's  train 
was  due — had  come,  and  passed,  but  no  train  appeared. 

"  When  will  the  eight-thirty  train  be  in  ?  "  he  asked  of  a 
man  who  was  sweeping  the  mud  from  the  step. 

"  She  is  not  expected  yet  this  hour." 

"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"Christmas  time  you  see,  'tis  always  so.  People  are  run- 
ning about  to  see  their  friends.  The  trains  have  been  like  it 
ever  since  Christmas  Eve,  and  will  be  for  another  week 
yet." 

Edward  again  went  on  walking  and  waiting  under  the 
draughty  roof.  He  found  it  utterly  impossible  to  leave  the 
spot.  His  mind  was  so  intent  upon  the  importance  of 
meeting  with  Owen,  and  informing  him  of  Cytherea's  where- 
abouts, that  he  could  not  but  fancy  Owen  might  leave  the 
station  unobserved  if  he  turned  his  back,  and  become  lost 
to  him  in  the  streets  of  the  town. 

The  hour  expired.  Ten  o'clock  struck.  "When  will  the 
train  be  in  ?  "  said  Edward  to  the  telegraph  clerk. 

"  In    five-and-thirty     minutes.     She's    now    at    L , 

They  have  extra  passengers,  and  the  rails  are  bad  to-day." 

At  last,  at  a  quarter  to  eleven,  the  train  came  in. 

The  first  to  alight  from  it  was  Owen,  looking  pale  and 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES,  269 

cold.  He  casually  glanced  round  upon  the  nearly  deserted 
lilatform,  and  was  hurrying  to  the  outlet,  when  his  eyes  fell 
upon  Edward.  At  sight  of  his  friend  he  was  quite  be- 
wildered, and  could  not  speak. 

"  Here  I  am,  Mr.  Graye,"  said  Edward  cheerfully.  "  T 
have  seen  Cytherea,  and  she  has  been  waiting  for  you  thes- 
two  or  three  hours." 

Owen  took  Edward's  hand,  pressed  it,  and  looked  at  him 
in  silence.  Such  was  the  concentration  of  his  mind,  that 
not  till  many  minutes  after  did  he  think  of  inquiring  how 
Springrove  had  contrived  to  be  there  before  him. 


§  10.  Eleven  d clock  p.  m. 

On  their  arrival  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  it  was  arranged 
between  Springrove  and  Graye  that  the  latter  only  should 
enter,  Edward  waiting  outside.  Owen  had  remembered 
continually  what  his  friend  had  frequently  overlooked,  that 
there  was  yet  a  possibility  of  his  sister  being  Manston's  wife, 
and  the  recollection  taught  him  to  avoid  any  rashness  in  his 
proceedings  which  might  lead  to  bitterness  hereafter. 

Entering  the  room,  he  found  Manston  sitting  in  the  chair 
which  had  been  occupied  by  Cytherea  on  Edward's  visit, 
three  hours  earlier.  Before  Owen  had  spoken,  Manston 
arose,  and  stepping  past  him,  closed  the  door.  His  face  ap- 
peared harassed — much  more  troubled  than  the  slight  cir- 
cumstance which  had  as  yet  come  to  his  knowledge  seemed 
to  account  for. 

Manston  could  form  no  reason  for  Owen's  presence,  but 
intuitively  linked  it  with  Cytherea's  seclusion.  "  Altogether 
this  is  most  unseemly,"  he  said,  "  whatever  it  may  mean." 

"Don't  think  there  is  meant  anything  unfriendly  by  my 
coming  here,"  said  Owen,  earnestly  ;  "  but  listen  to  this, 
and  think  if  I  could  do  otherwise  than  come." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  the  confession  of  Chinney  the 
porter,  as  hastily  written  out  by  the  vicar,  and  read  it  aloud. 
The  aspects  of  Manston's  face  whilst  he  Hstened  to  the 
opening  words  were  strange,  dark,  and  mysterious  enough  to 
have  justified  suspicions  that  no  deceit  could  be  too  compli- 
cated for  the  possessor  of  such  impulses,  had  there  not  over- 


270 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


ridden  them  all,  as  the  reading  went  on,  a  new  and  irrepres- 
sible expression — one  unmistakably  honest.  It  was  that  of 
unqualified  amazement  in  the  steward's  mind  at  the  news  he 
heard.  Owen  looked  up,  and  saw  it.  The  sight  only  corn- 
firmed  him  in  the  belief  he  had  held  throughout,  in  antagon- 
ism to  Edward's  suspicions. 

There  could  no  longer  be  a  shadow  of  doubt  that  if  the 
first  Mrs.  Manston  lived,  her  husband  was  ignorant  of  the 
fact.  What  he  could  have  feared  by  his  ghastly  look  at  first, 
and  now  have  ceased  to  fear,  it  was  quite  futile  to  conject- 
ure. 

"  Now  I  do  not  for  a  moment  doubt  your  complete  igno- 
rance of  the  whole  matter  ;  you  cannot  suppose  for  an  in- 
stant that  I  do,"  said  Owen  when  he  had  finished  reading. 
"  But  is  it  not  best  for  both  that  Cytherea  should  come  back 
with  me  till  the  matter  is  cleared  up?  In  fact,  under  the 
circumstances,  no  other  course  is  left  open  to  me  than  to  re- 
quest it." 

Whatever  Manston's  original  feelings  had  been,  all  in  him 
now  gave  way  to  irritation,  and  irritation  to  rage.  He 
paced  up  and  down  the  room  till  he  had  mastered  it ;  then 
said  in  ordinary  tones  : — 

"  Certainly,  I  know  no  more  than  you  and  others  know — 
it  was  a  gratuitous  unpleasantness  in  you  to  say  you  did  not 
doubt  me.  Why  should  you  or  anybody  have  doubted 
me  ?  " 

"Well,  where  is  my  sister?"  said  Owen. 

"  Locked  in  the  next  room." 

His  own  answer  reminded  Manston  that  Cytherea  must 
by  some  inscrutable  means  have  had  an  inkling  of  the 
event. 

Owen  had  gone  to  the  door  of  Cytherea's  room. 

"  Cytherea,  darling — ^"tis  Owen,"  he  said,  outside  the  door. 
A  rusthng  of  clothes,  soft  footsteps,  and  a  voice  saying  from 
the  inside,  "  Is  it  really  you,  Owen — is  it  really  ?  " 

"It  is." 

"  O,  will  you  take  care  of  me  !  " 

"  Always." 

Shu  unlocked  the  door  and  retreated  again.  Manston 
came  forward  from  the  other  room  with  a  candle  in  his  hand, 
as  Owen  pushed  open  the  door. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  2/1 

Her  frightened  eyes  were  unnaturally  large,  and  shone 
like  stars  in  the  darkness  of  the  background,  as  the  light  fell 
upon  them.  She  leapt  up  to  OweiT  in  one  bound,  her  small 
taper  fingers  extended  like  the  leaves  of  a  lupine.  Then 
she  clasped  her  cold  and  trembling  hands  round  his  neck, 
and  shivered. 

The  sight  of  her  again  kindled  all  Manston's  passions  into 
activity.  "She  shall  not  go  with  you,'"  he  said  firmly,  and 
stepping  a  pace  or  two  closer,  "  unless  you  prove  that  she  is 
not  my  wife  ;  and  you  can't  do  it !" 

"  This  is  proof,"  said  Owen,  holding  up  the  pajier. 

"  No  proof  at  all ! "  said  Manston  hotly.  "  'Tis  not  a 
death-bed  confession,  and  those  are  the  only  things  of  the 
kind  held  as  good  evidence." 

"Send  for  a  lawyer,"  Owen  returned,  "and  let  him  tell  us 
the  proper  course  to  adopt." 

"  Never  mind  the  law — let  me  go  with  Owen  !  "  cried  Cy- 
therea,  still  holding  on  to  him.  "  You  will  let  me  go  with 
him,  won't  you,  sir?"  she  said,  turning  appealingly  to  Man- 
ston. 

"  We'll  have  it  all  right  and  square,"  said  Manston,  with 
more  quietness.  "  I  have  no  objection  to  your  brother 
sending  for  a  lawyer  if  he  wants  to." 

It  was  getting  on  for  twelve  o'clock,  but  the  proprietor  of 
.  tne  hotel  had  not  yet  gone  to  bed  on  account  of  the  mystery 
on  the  first  floor,  which  was  an  occurrence  unusual  in  the 
quiet  family  lodging.  Owen  looked  over  the  banisters 
and  saw  him  standing  in  the  hall.  It  struck  Graye  that  the 
wisest  course  would  be  to  take  the  landlord  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent into  their  confidence,  appeal  to  his  honor  as  a  gentle- 
man, and  so  on,  in  order  to  acquire  the  information  he 
wanted,  and  also  to  prevent  the  episode  of  the  evening  from 
becoming  a  public  piece  of  news.  He  called  the  landlord 
up  to  where  they  stood,  and  told  him  the  main  facts  of  the 
story. 

The  landlord  was  fortunately  a  quiet,  prejudiced  man,  and 
a  nieditative  smoker. 

"  I  know  the  very  man  you  want  to  see — the  very  man," 
he  said,  looking  into  the  extreme  centre  of  the  candle  flame. 
"  Sharp  as  a  needle,  and  not  over  rich.  Timms  will  put  you 
all  straight  in  no  time — trust  Timms  for  that." 


2/2 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


"  He's  in  bed  by  this  time,  for  certain,"  said  Owen. 

"  Never  mind  that — Timms  knows  me,  I  know  him.  He'll 
oblige  me  as  a  personal  favor.  Wait  here  a  bit.  Perhaps, 
too,  he's  up  at  some  party  or  another — he's  a  nice  jovial  fel- 
low, sharp  as  a  needle  too ;  mind  you,  sharp  as  a  needle 
too." 

He  went  downstairs,  put  on  his  overcoat,  and  left  the 
house,  the  three  persons  most  concerned  entering  the  room, 
and  standing  motionless,  awkward,  and  silent  in  the  midst 
of  it.  Cytherea  pictured  to  herself  the  long  weary  minutes 
she  would  have  to  stand  there,  whilst  a  sleepy  man  could  be 
prepared  for  consultation,  till  the  constraint  between  them 
seemed  unendurable  to  her — she  could  never  last  out  the 
time.  Owen  was  annoyed  that  Manston  had  not  quietly  ar- 
ranged with  him  at  once  ;  Manston  at  Owen's  homeliness  of 
idea  in  proposing  to  send  for  an  attorney,  as  if  he  would  be 
a  touchstone  of  infallible  proof 

Reflection  was  cut  short  by  the  approach  of  footsteps,  and 
in  a  few  moments  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel  entered,  intro- 
ducing his  friend.  "  Mr.  Timms  has  not  been  in  bed,"  he 
said;  "he  had  just  returned  from  dining  with  a  few  friends, 
so  there's  no  trouble  given.  To  save  time  I  explained  the 
matter  as  we  came  along." 

It  occurred  to  Owen  and  Manston  both  that  they  might 
get  a  misty  exposition  of  the  law  from  Mr.  Timms,  at  that 
moment  of  concluding  dinner  with  a  few  friends. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  see,"  said  the  lawyer,  yawning,  and  turn- 
ing his  vision  inward  by  main  force,  "  it  is  quite  a  matter  for 
private  arrangement  between  the  parties,  whoever  the  parties 
are — at  least  at  present.  I  speak  more  as  a  father  than  as 
a  lawyer,  it  is  true,  but  let  the  young  lady  stay  with  her 
father,  or  guardian,  safe  out  of  shame's  way,  until  the  mystery 
is  sifted,  whatever  the  mystery  is.  Should  the  evidence 
prove  to  be  false,  or  trumped  up  by  anybody  to  get  her  away 
from  you,  her  husband,  you  may  sue  them  for  the  damages 
accruing  from  the  delay." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Manston,  who  had  completely  recovered 
his  self-possession  and  common-sense,  "  let  it  all  be  settled 
by  herself."  Turning  to  Cytherea  he  whispered  so  softly 
that  Owen  did  not  hear  the  words, 

"  Do  you  wish  to  go  back  with  your  brother,  dearest,  and 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  2/3 

leave  me  here  miserable,  and  lonely,  or  will  you  stay  with 
me,  your  own  husband  ?  " 

"  I'll  go  back  with  Owen." 

"  Very  well."  He  relinquished  his  coaxing  tone,  and 
went  on  sternly,  "  And  remember  this,  Cytherea,  I  am  as 
innocent  of  deception  in  this  thing  as  you  are  yourself.  Do 
you  believe  me  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  she  said. 

"  I  had  no  shadow  of  suspicion  that  my  first  wife  lived  I 
don't  think  she  does  even  now.     Do  you  believe  me  ?" 

"  I  believe  you,"  she  said. 

"  And  now,  good-evening,"  he  continued,  opening  the 
door  and  politely  intimating  to  the  three  men  standing  by 
that  there  was  no  further  necessity  for  their  remaining  in  his 
room.     "In  three  days  I  shall  claim  her." 

The  lawyer  and  the  hotel-keeper  retired  first.  Owen, 
gathering  up  as  much  of  his  sister's  clothing  as  lay  about  the 
room,  took  her  upon  his  arm,  and  followed  them.  Edward, 
to  whom  she  owed  everything,  who  had  been  left  standing  in 
the  street  like  a  dog  without  a  home,  was  utterly  forgotten. 
Owen  paid  the  landlord  and  the  lawyer  for  the  trouble  he 
had  occasioned  them,  looked  to  the  packing,  and  went  to 
the  door. 

A  cab,  which  somewhat  unaccountably  was  seen  lingering 
in  front  of  the  house,  was  called  up,  and  Cytherea' s  luggage 
put  upon  it. 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  hotel  near  the  station  that  is  open 
for  night  arrivals  ?  "  Owen  inquired  of  the  driver. 

"  A  place  has  been  bespoken  for  you,  sir,  at  the  White 
Unicorn — and  the  gentleman  wished  me  to  give  you  this." 

"  Bespoken  by  Springrove,  who  ordered  the  cab,  of 
course,"  said  Owen  to  himself.  By  the  Hght  of  the  street- 
lamp  he  read  these  lines,  hurriedly  traced  in  pencil : — 

"  I  have  gone  home  by  the  mail-train.  It  is  better  for  all 
parties  that  I  should  be  out  of  the  way.  Tell  Cytherea  that 
I  apologize  for  having  caused  her  such  unnecessary  pain,  as 
it  seems  I  did.     But  it  cannot  be  helped  now. 

"E.  S." 

Owen  handed  his  sister  into  the  vehicle,  and  told  the  cab- 
man to  drive  on. 
13* 


74 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


"■  Poor  Springrove — I  think  we  have  served  him  rather 
badly,"  he  said  to  Cytherea,  repeating  the  words  of  the  note 
to  her. 

A  thrill  of  pleasure  passed  through  her  bosom  as  she 
listened  to  them.  They  were  the  genuine  reproach  of  a 
lover  to  his  mistress  ;  the  trilling  coldness  of  her  answer  to 
him  would  have  been  noticed  by  no  man  who  was  only  a 
friend.  But,  in  entertaining  that  sweet  thought,  she  had  for- 
gotten herself  and  her  position  for  the  instant. 

Was  she  still  Manston's  wife — that  was  the  terrible  suppo- 
sition, and  her  future  seemed  still  a  possible  misery  to  her. 
For,  on  account  of  the  late  jarring  accident,  a  lite  with  Man- 
ston  which  would  otherwise  have  been  only  a  sadness,  must 
become  a  burden  of  unutterable  sorrow. 

Then  she  thought  of  the  misrejiresentation  and  scandal 
that  would  ensue  if  she  were  no  wife.  One  cause  for  thank- 
fulness accompanied  the  reflection  :  Edward  knew  the  truth. 

They  soon  reached  the  quiet  old  inn  which  had  been 
selected  for  them  by  the  forethought  of  the  man  who  loved 
her  well.  Here  they  installed  themselves  for  the  night, 
arranging  to  go  to  Creston  by  the  first  train  the  next  day. 

At  this  hour  Edward  Springrove  was  fast  approaching  his 
native  county  on  the  wheels  of  the  n'ght  mail. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE   EVENTS   OF   FIVE   WEEKS. 
§   I.  From  the  sixth  to  the  thirteenth  of  January. 

MANSTON  had  evidently  resolved  to  do  nothing  in  a 

This  much  was  plain,  that  his  earnest  desire  and  intention 
was  to  raise  in  Cytherea's  bosom  no  feelings  of  permanent 
aversion  to  him.  The  instant  after  the  first  burst  of  disap- 
pointment had  esca[)ed  him  in  the  hotel  at  Southampton,  he 
had  seen  how  far  better  it  would  be  to  lose  her  presence  for 
a  week  than  her  resjject  forever. 

"  She  shall  be  mine ;  I  will  claim  the  young  thing  yet," 
he  insisted.  And  then  he  seemed  to  reason  over  methods 
for  compassing  that  object,  which,  to  all  those  who  were  in 
any  degree  acquainted  with  the  recent  event,  appeared  the 
least  likely  of  possible  contingencies. 

He  returned  to  Knapwater  late  the  next  day,  and  was  pre- 
paring to  call  on  Miss  Aldclyfte,  when  the  conclusion  forced 
itself  upon  him  that  nothing  would  be  gained  by  such  a  step. 
No  ;  every  action  of  his  should  be  done  openly — even  relig- 
iously. At  least,  he  called  on  the  rector,  and  stated  this  to 
be  his  resolve. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Raunham,  "  it  is  best  to  proceed 
candidly  and  fairly,  or  undue  suspicion  may  fall  on  you.  You 
should,  in  my  opinion,  take  active  steps  at  once. ' 

"  I  will  do  the  utmost  that  lies  in  my  power  to  clear  up 
the  mystery,  and  silence  the  hubbub  of  gossip  that  has  been 
set  going  about  me.  But  what  can  I  do  ?  They  say  that 
the  man  who  comes  first  in  the  chain  of  inquiry  is  not  to  be 
found — I  mean  the  porter." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  he  is  not.  When  I  returned  from 
the  station  last  night,  after  seeing  Owen  Graye  off,  I  went 


276  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

again  to  the  cottage  where  he  has  been  lodging,  to  get  more 
inteUigence,  as  I  thought.  He  was  not  there.  He  had  gone 
out  at  dusk,  saying  he  would  be  back  soon.  But  he  has  not 
come  back  yet." 

"  I  rather  doubt  if  we  shall  see  him  again." 

"  Had  I  known  of  this,  I  would  have  done  what  in  my 
flurry  I  did  not  think  of  doing — set  a  watch  upon  him.  But 
why  not  advertise  for  your  missing  wife  as  a  preliminary,  con- 
sulting your  solicitor  in  the  meantime?" 

"  Advertise.  I'll  think  about  it,"  said  Manston,  lingering 
on  the  word  as  he  pronounced  it.  "  Yes,  that  seems  a  right 
thing — quite  a  right  thing." 

He  went  home  and  remained  moodily  in-doors  all  the  next 
day  and  the  next — for  nearly  a  week,  in  short.  Then,  one 
evening  at  dusk,  he  went  out  with  an  uncertain  air  as  to  the  di- 
rection of  his  walk,  which  resitlted,  however,  in  leading  him 
again  to  the  rectory. 

He  saw  Mr.  Raunham.  "  Have  you  done  anything  yet  ?  " 
the  rector  inquired. 

*'  No — 1  have  not,"  said  Manston,  absently.  "  But  I  am 
going  to  set  about  it."  He  hesitated,  as  if  ashamed  of  some 
weakness  he  was  about  to  betray.  "  My  object  in  calling 
was  to  ask  if  you  had  heard  any  tidings  from  Creston  of  my 
— Cytherea.  You  used  to  speak  of  her  as  one  you  were 
interested  in." 

There  was,  at  any  rate,  real  sadness  in  Mansion's  tone 
now,  and  the  rector  paused  to  weigh  his  words  ere  he  re- 
plied. 

"I  have  not  heard  directly  from  her,"  he  said  gently. 
"  But  her  brother  has  communicated  with  some  people  in 
the  parish — " 

"The  Springroves,  I  suppose,"  said  Manston,  gloomily. 

"  Yes  ;  and  they  tell  me  that  she  is  very  ill,  and  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  likely  to  be  for  some  days." 

"  Surely,  surely,  I  must  go  and  see  her  !  "  Manston  cried. 

"  I  would  advise  you  not  to  go,"  said  Raunham.  "  But 
do  this  instead — be  as  quick  as  you  can  in  making  a  move- 
ment towards  ascertaining  the  truth  as  regards  the  existence 
of  your  wife.  You  see,  Mr.  Manston,  an  out-step  place  like 
this  is  not  like  a  city,  and  there  is  nobody  to  busy  himself 
for  the  good  of  the  community  ;  whilst  poor  Cytherea  and 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 


27/ 


her  brother  are  socially  t  )o  dependent  to  be  able  to  make 
stir  in  the  matter,  which  is  a  greater  reason  still  why  you 
should  be  disinterestedly  prompt." 

The  steward  murmured  an  assent.     Still  there  was   the 
same  indecision  —  not  the  indecision  of  weakness — the  in 
decision  of  conscious  perplexity. 

On  Manston's  return  from  this  interview  at  the  rectory,  he 
passed  the  door  of  the  Traveller's  Rest  Inn.  Finding  he 
had  no  light  for  his  cigar,  and  it  being  three-quarters  of  a 
mile  to  his  residence  in  the  park,  he  entered  the  tavern  to 
get  one.  Nobody  was  in  the  outer  portion  of  the  front  room 
where  Mansion  stood,  but  a  space  round  the  fire  was 
screened  off  from  the  remainder,  and  inside  the  high  oak 
settle,  forming  a  part  of  the  screen,  he  heard  voices  convers- 
ing. The  speakers  had  not  noticed  his  footsteps,  and  con- 
tinued their  discourse. 

One  of  the  two  he  recognized  as  a  well-known  night-poach- 
er, the  man  who  had  met  him  with  tidings  of  his  wife's  death 
on  the  evening  of  the  conflagation.  The  other  seemed  to  be 
a  stranger  following  the  same  mode  of  life.  The  conversa- 
tion was  carried  on  in  the  emphatic  and  confidential  tone  of 
men  who  are  slightly  intoxicated. 

What  the  steward  heard  was  enough,  and  more  than  enough, 
to  lead  him  to  forget  or  renounce  his  motive  in  entering. 
The  effect  upon  him  was  strange  and  strong.  His  first  ob- 
ject seemed  to  be  to  escape  from  the  house  again  without 
being  seen  or  heard. 

Having  accomplished  this  he  went  in  at  the  park  gate,  and 
strode  off  under  the  trees  to  the  Old  House.  There  sitting 
down  by  the  fire,  and  burying  himself  in  reflection,  he  allowed 
the  minutes  to  pass  by  unheeded.  First  the  candle  burnt 
down  in  its  socket  and  stunk  :  he  did  not  notice  it.  Then 
the  fire  went  out :  he  did  not  see  it.  His  feet  grew  cold : 
still  he  thought  on. 

It  may  be  remarked  that  a  lady,  a  year  and  a  quarter 
before  this  time,  had,  under  the  same  conditions — an  unre- 
stricted mental  absorption — shown  nearly  the  same  peculiar- 
ities as  this  man  evinced  now.  The  lady  was  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe. 

It  was  half-past  twelve  when  Manston  moved,  as  if  he  had 
come  to  a  determination. 


2/8  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  first  thing  he  did  the  next  morning  was  to  call  at  Knap- 
water  House  ;  where  he  found  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  not 
well  enough  to  see  him.  She  had  been  ailing  from  slight  in- 
ternal hemorrhage  ever  since  the  confession  of  the  porter 
Chinney.  Apparently  not  much  aggrieved  at  the  denial,  he 
shortly  afterwards  went  to  the  railway  station  and  took  iiis 
departure  for  London,  leaving  a  letter  for  Miss  Aldclyffe, 
stating  the  reason  of  his  journey  thither — to  recover  traces 
of  his  missing  wife. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  week  paragraphs  appeared  in 
the  local  and  other  newspapers,  drawing  attention  to  the  facts 
of  this  singular  case.  The  writers,  with  scarcely  an  excep- 
tion, dwelt  forcibly  upon  a  featiire  which  had  at  first  escaped 
the  observation  of  the  villagers,  including  Mr.  Raunham, — 
that  if  the  announcement  of  the  man  Chinney  was  true,  it 
seemed  extremely  probable  that  Mrs.  Manston  left  her  watch 
and  keys  behind  on  purpose  to  blind  people  as  to  her  escape  ; 
and  that  therefore  she  would  not  now  let  herself  be  discov- 
ered, unless  a  strong  pressure  were  put  upon  her.  The 
writers  added  that  the  police  were  on  the  track  of  the  por- 
ter, who  very  possibly  had  absconded  in  the  fear  that  his  ret- 
icence was  criminal,  and  that  Mr.  Manston,  the  husband, 
was  with  praiseworthy  energy  making  every  eftbrt  to  clear 
the  whole  matter  up. 


§  2.  From  the  eighteenth  to  Ihe  end  of  January. 

Five  days  from  the  time  of  his  departure,  Manston  re« 
turned  from  London  and  Liverpool,  looking  very  fatigued 
and  thoughtful.  He  explained  to  the  rector  and  other  of 
his  acquaintance  that  all  the  inquiries  he  had  made  at  his 
wife's  old  lodgings  and  his  own  had  been  totally  barren  of 
results. 

But  he  seemed  inclined  to  push  the  affair  to  a  clear  con- 
clusion now  that  he  had  commenced.  After  the  lapse  of 
another  day  or  two  he  proceeded  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  the 
rector,  and  advertised  for  the  missing  woman  in  three  of  the 
London  papers,  the  Times,  the  Daily  Telegraph,  and  the 
Standard.  The  advertisement  was  a  carefully  considered 
and  even  attractive  effusion,  calculated  to  win  the  heart,  or 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


279 


at  least  the  understanding,  of  any  woman  who  had  a  spark 
of  her  own  nature  left  in  her. 

There  was  no  answer. 

Three  days  later  he  repeated  the  experiment ;  with  the 
same  result  as  before. 

"  I  cannot  try  any  further,"  said  Mansion  speciously  to 
the  rector,  his  sole  auditor  throughout  the  proceedings. 
"  Mr.  Raunhani,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth  plainly  :  I  don't  love 
her  ;  I  do  love  Cytherea,  and  the  whole  of  this  business  of 
searching  for  the  other  woman  goes  altogether  against  me. 
I  hope  to  God  I  shall  never  see  her  again." 

"  But  you  will  do  your  duty  at  least  ?  "  said  Mr.  Raunham. 

"I  have  done  it,"  said  Manston.  "If  ever  a  man  on 
the  face  of  this  earth  has  done  his  duty  towards  an  absent 
wife,  I  have  towards  her, — living  or  dead — at  least,"  he 
added,  correcting  himself,  "  since  I  have  lived  at  Knap- 
water.  I  neglected  her  before  that  time — I  own  that,  as  I 
have  owned  it  before." 

"  I  should,  if  I  were  you,  adopt  other  means  to  get  tid- 
ings of  her  if  advertising  fails,  in  spite  of  my  feelings,"  said 
the  rector,  emphatically.  "  But  at  any  rate  try  advertising 
once  more.  There's  a  satisfaction  in  having  made  any  at- 
tempt three  several  times." 

When  Manston  had  left  the  study,  the  rector  stood  look- 
ing at  the  fire  for  a  considerable  length  of  trme,  lost  in  pro- 
found reflection.  He  went  to  his  private  diary,  and  after 
many  pauses,  which  he  varied  only  by  dipping  his  pen,  let- 
ting it  dry,  wiping  it  on  his  sleeve,  and  then  dipping  it  again, 
he  took  the  following  note  of  events  : — 

"January  25. — Mr.  Manston  has  just  seen  me  for  the 
third  time,  on  the  subject  of  his  lost  wife.  There  have  been 
these  peculiarities  attending  the  three  interviews, — 

"  The  first.  My  visitor,  whilst  expressing  by  words  his 
great  anxiety  to  do  everything  for  her  recovery,  showed 
plainly  by  his  bearing  that  he  was  convinced  he  should  never 
see  her  again. 

"  The  second.  He  had  left  off  feigning  anxiety  to  do 
rightly  by  his  first  wife,  and  honestly  asked  after  Cytherea's 
welfare. 

"  The  third  (and  most  remarkable).  He  seemed  to  have 
jost  all  consistency.    Whilst  expressing  his  love  for  Cytherea 


28o  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

(which  certainly  is  strong)  and  evincing  the  usual  indiffer- 
ence to  the  first  Mrs.  Manston's  fate,  he  was  unable  to  con- 
ceal the  intensity  of  his  eagerness  for  me  to  advise  him  to 
advertise  again  for  her." 

A  week  after  the  second,  the  third  advertisement  was  in- 
serted. A  paragraph  was  attached,  which  stated  that  this 
would  be  the  last  time  the  announcement  would  appear. 


§  3.   The  first  of  February. 

At  this,  the  eleventh  hour,  the  postman  brought  a  letter 
for  Manston,  directed  in  a  woman's  hand. 

A  bachelor  friend  of  the  steward's,  Mr.  Dickson  by  name, 
who  was  somewhat  of  a  chatterer — plenus  rimarum, — and 
who  boasted  of  an  endless  string  of  acquaintances,  had 
come  over  from  Froominster  the  preceding  day  by  invita- 
tion— an  invitation  which  had  been  a  pleasant  surprise  to 
Dickson  himself,  insomuch  that  Manston,  as  a  rule,  voted 
him  a  bore  almost  to  his  face.  He  had  stayed  over  the 
night  and  was  sitting  at  breakfast  with  his  host  when  the 
important  missive  arrived. 

Manston  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  the  subject  of  the 
letter,  or  the  name  of  the  writer.  First  glancing  the  pages 
through,  he  read  aloud  as  follows  :  — 

" '  My  Husband, 

"  '  I  implore  your  forgiveness. 

"  '  During  the  last  thirteen  months  I  have  repeated  to 
myself  a  hundred  times  that  you  should  never  discover  what 
1  voluntarily  tell  you  now,  namely,  that  I  am  alive  and  in 
perfect  health. 

"  '  I  have  seen  all  your  advertisements.  Nothing  but 
your  persistence  has  won  me  round.  Surely,  I  thought,  he 
must  love  me  still.  Why  else  should  he  try  to  win  back  a 
woman  who,  faithful  unto  death  as  she  will  be,  can,  in  a  so- 
cial sense,  aid  him  towards  acquiring  nothing  ? — rather  the 
reverse,  indeed. 

"'You  yourself  state  my  own  mind — that  the  only 
grounds  upon  which  we  can  meet  and  live  together,  with  a 
reasonable  hope  of  happiness,  must  be  a  mutual  consent  to 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  28 1 

bury  in  oblivion  all  past  differences.  I  heartily  and  willingly 
forget  everything — and  forgive  everything.  You  will  do  the 
same,  as  your  actions  show. 

"  '  There  will  be  plenty  of  opportunity  for  me  to  explain 
the  few  facts  relating  to  my  escape  on  the  night  of  the  fire. 
I  will  only  give  the  heads  in  this  hurried  note.  I  was 
grieved  at  your  not  coming  to  fetch  me,  more  grieved  at 
your  absence  from  the  station,  most  of  all  by  your  absence 
from  home.  On  my  journey  to  the  inn  I  writhed  under  a 
passionate  sense  of  wrong  done  me.  When  I  had  been 
shown  to  my  room  I  waited  and  hoped  for  you  till  the  land- 
lord had  gone  upstairs  to  bed.  I  still  found  that  you  did 
not  come,  and  then  I  finally  made  up  my  mind  to  leave.  I 
had  half  undressed,  but  I  put  on  my  things  again,  forgetting 
my  watch  (and  I  suppose  dropping  my  keys,  though  I  am 
not  sure  where)  in  my  hurry,  and  stepped  out  of  the  house. 
The—'  " 

"  Well,  that's  a  rum  story,"  said  Mr.  Dickson,  interrupt- 
ing. 

'*  What's  a  rum  story  ?  "  said  Manston,  hastily,  and  flush- 
ing in  the  face. 

"Forgetting  her  watch  and  dropping  her  keys  in  her 
hurry." 

"I  don't  see  anything  particularly  wonderful  in  it.  Any 
woman  might  do  such  a  thing." 

"  Any  woman  might  if  escaping  from  fire  or  shipwreck, 
or  any  such  immediate  danger.  But  it  seems  incomprehen- 
sible to  me  that  any  woman  in  her  senses,  who  quietly  de- 
cides to  leave  a  house,  should  be  so  forgetful." 

"  All  that  is  required  to  reconcile  your  seeming  with  her 
facts  is  to  assume  that  she  was  not  in  her  senses,  for  that's 
what  she  did  plainly,  or  how  could  the  things  have  been 
found  there  ?  Besides,  she's  truthful  enough."  He  spoke 
eagerly  and  peremptorily. 

"Yes,  yes,  1  know  that.  I  merely  meant  that  it  seemed 
rather  odd." 

"  O  yes."     Manston  read  on,— 

"  ' and  stepped  out  of  the  house.     The  rubbish-heap 

was  burning  up  brightly,  but  the  thought  that  the  house  was 
in  danger  did  not  strike  me;  I  did  not  consider  that  it  might 
be  thatched. 


282  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

*'  '  I  idled  in  the  lane  behind  the  wood  till  the  last  down- 
train  had  come  in,  not  being  in  a  mood  to  face  strangers. 
Whilst  I  was  there  the  fire  broke  out,  and  this  perplexed  me 
still  more.  However,  I  was  still  determined  not  to  stay  in 
the  place.  I  went  to  the  railway  station,  which  was  now 
quiet,  and  inquired  of  the  solitary  man  on  duty  there  con- 
cerning the  trains.  It  was  not  till  I  had  left  the  man  that  I 
saw  the  effect  the  fire  might  have  on  my  history.  I  consici 
ered  also,  though  not  in  any  detailed  manner,  that  the  event, 
by  attracting  the  attention  of  the  village  to  my  former 
abode,  might  set  people  on  my  track  should  they  doubt  my 
death,  and  a  sudden  dread  of  having  to  go  back  again  to 
Knapwater — a  place  which  had  seemed  inimical  to  me  from 
first  to  last — prompted  me  to  run  back  and  bribe  the  porter 
to  secrecy.  I  then  walked  on  to  Froominster,  lingering 
about  the  outskirts  of  the  town  till  the  morning  train  came 
in,  when  I  proceeded  by  it  to  London,  and  then  took  these 
lodgings,  where  I  have  been  supporting  myself  ever  since  by 
needlework,  endeavoring  to  save  enough  money  to  pay  my 
passage  home  to  America,  but  making  melancholy  progress 
in  my  attempt.  However,  all  that  is  changed — can  1  be 
otherwise  than  happy  at  it  ?  Of  course  not.  I  am  happy. 
Tell  me  what  I  am  to  do,  and 

"  '  Believe  me  still  to  be 

"  '  Your  faithful  wife, 

" '  Eunice. 

"  '  My  name  here  is  (as  before) 

"  '  Mrs.  Rondley,  and  my  address, 
"  '  79,  Addington  Street, 

"  '  Lambeth.'  " 

The  name  and  address  were  written  on  a  separate  sup  of 
paper. 

"  So  it's  to  be  all  right  at  last  then,"  said  Manston's  friend. 
"  But  after  all  there's  another  woman  in  the  case.  You 
don't  seem  very  sorry  for  the  little  thing  who  is  put  to  such 
distress  by  this  turn  of  affairs?  I  wonder  you  can  let  her 
go  so  coolly." 

The  speaker  was  looking  out  between  the  muUions  of  the 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 


283 


window — noticing  that  some  of  the  h'ghts  were  glazed  in 
lozenges,  some  in  squares — as  he  said  the  words,  othervvi'--e 
he  would  have  seen  the  passionate  expression  of  agonized 
hopelessness  that  flitted  across  the  steward's  countenance 
when  the  remark  was  made.  Ha  did  not  see  it,  and  Man- 
sion answered  after  a  short  interval.  The  way  in  which  he 
spoke  of  the  young  girl  who  had  believed  herself  his  wife, 
whom,  a  few  short  da)'S  ago,  he  had  openly  idolized,  and 
whom,  in  his  secret  heart,  he  idolized  still,  as  far  as  such  a 
form  of  love  was  compatible  with  his  nature,  showed,  that 
from  policy  or  otherwise,  he  meant  to  act  up  to  the  require- 
ments of  the  position  into  which  fate  appeared  determined  to 
drive  him. 

"That's  neither  here  nor  there,"  he  said  ;  "it  is  a  point 
of  honor  to  do  as  I  am  doing,  and  there's  an  end  of  it." 

"  Yes.  Only  I  thought  you  used  not  to  care  overmuch 
about  your  first  bargain." 

"  I  certainly  did  not  at  one  time.  One  is  apt  to  feel 
rather  weary  of  wives  when  they  are  so  devilish  civil  under 
all  aspects,  as  she  used  to  be.  But  anything  for  a  change — 
Abigail  is  lost,  but  Michal  is  recovered.  You  would  hardly 
believe  it,  but  she  seems  in  fancy  to  be  quite  another  bride 
— in  fact  almost  as  if  .she  had  really  risen  from  the  dead, 
instead  of  having  only  done  so  virtually." 

"  You  let  the  young  pink  one  know  that  the  other  has 
come  or  is  coming  ?  " 

"  Cui  bono  ?  "  The  steward  meditated  critically,  showing 
a  portion  of  his  intensely  white  and  regular  teeth  within  the 
ruby  lips. 

"  I  cannot  say  anything  to  her  that  will  do  any  good,"  he 
resumed.  "It  would  be  awkward — either  seeing  or  com- 
municating with  her  again.  The  best  plan  to  adopt  will  be 
to  let  matters  take  their  course — she'll  find  it  all  out  soon 
enough." 

Manston  found  himself  alone  a  few  minutes  later.  He 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  murmured,  "  O  my  lost  one 
— O  my  Cytherea  !  That  it  should  come  to  this  is  hard 
for  me  !  'Tis  now  all  darkness — '  a  land  of  darkness  as  dark- 
ness itself;  and  of  the  shadow  of  death  without  any  order, 
and  where  the  light  is  as  darkness.'  " 

Yes,  the  artificial  bearing  which   this  extraordinary  mai» 


284  DESPERATE  REMEDItS. 

had  adopted  before  strangers  ever  since  he  had  overheard 
the  conversation  at  the  inn,  left  him  now,  and  he  mourned 
for  Cytherea  aloud. 


§  4.  The  twelfth  of  February. 

Knapwater  Park  is  the  picture— at  eleven  o'clock  on  a 
muddy,  quiet,  hazy,  but  bright  morning — a  morning  without 
any  blue  sky,  and  without  any  shadows,  the  earth  being  en- 
livened and  lit  up  rather  by  the  spirit  of  an  invisible  sun  than 
by  its  bodily  presence. 

The  local  Hunt  had  met  for  the  day's  sport  on  the  open 
space  of  ground  immediately  in  front  of  the  steward's  resi- 
dence— called  in  the  list  of  appointments,  "Old  House, 
Knapwater  " — the  meet  being  here  once  every  season,  for 
the  pleasure  of  jMiss  Aldclyffe  and  her  friends. 

Leaning  out  from  one  of  the  first-floor  windows,  and  sur- 
veying with  the  keenest  interest  the  lively  picture  of  red  and 
black  jackets,  rich-colored  horses,  and  sparkling  bits  and 
spurs,  was  the  returned  and  long-lost  woman,  Mrs.  Mansion. 

The  eyes  of  those  forming  the  brilliant  group  were  occa- 
sionally turned  towards  her,  showing  plainly  that  her  advent- 
ures were  the  subject  of  conversation  equally  with  or  niore 
than  the  chances  of  the  coming  day.  She  did  not  flush  be- 
neath their  scrutiny  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  seemed  rather  to 
enjoy  it,  her  eyes  being  kindled  with  a  light  of  contented  ex- 
ultation, subdued  to  square  with  the  circumstances  of  her 
matronly  position. 

She  was,  at  the  distance  from  which  they  surveyed  her,  an 
attractive  woman — comely  as  the  tents  of  Kedar.  But  to  a 
close  observer  it  was  palpable  enough  that  God  did  not  do 
all.  Appearing  at  least  seven  years  older  than  Cytherea,  she 
was  probably  lier  senior  by  double  the  number,  the  artificial 
means  employed  to  heighten  the  natural  good  appearance  of 
her  face  being  very  cleverly  applied.  Her  form  was  full  and 
round,  its  voluptuous  maturity  standing  out  in  strong  contrast 
to  the  memory  of  Cytherea's  lissom  girlishness. 

It  seems  to  be  an  almost  universal  rule  that  a  woman  who 
once  has  courted,  or  who  eventually  will  court,  the  society 
of  men  on  terms  dangerous  to  her  honor,  cannot  refrain  from 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  28$ 

flinging  the  meaning  glance  whenever  the  moment  arrives  in 
which  the  glance  is  strongly  asked  for,  even  if  her  life  and 
whole  future  depended  upon  that  moment's  abstinence. 

Had  a  cautious,  uxorious  husband  seen  in  his  wife's  coun- 
tenance what  might  now  have  been  seen  in  this  dark  eyed 
woman's  as  she  caught  a  stra}' glance  of  flirtation  from  one  or 
other  of  the  red-jacketed  gallants  outside,  he  would  have 
jiassed  many  days  in  agony  of  restless  jealousy  and  doubt.  But 
Mansion  was  not  such  a  husband,  and  he  was,  moreover, 
calmly  attending  to  his  business  at  the  other  end  of  the 
manor. 

The  steward  had  fetched  home  his  wife  in  the  most  matter- 
of-fact  way  a  few  days  earlier,  walking  round  the  village  with 
her  the  very  next  morning — at  once  putting  an  end,  by  this 
simple  solution,  to  all  the  riddling  inquiries  and  surmises 
that  were  rank  in  the  village  and  its  neighborhood.  Some 
men  said  that  this  woman  was  as  far  inferior  to  Cytherea  as 
earth  to  heaven  ;  others,  older  andsager,  thought  Manston  bet- 
ter off  with  such  a  wife  than  he  would  have  been  with  one  of 
Cytherea's  youthful  impulses,  and  inexperience  in  household 
management.  All  felt  their  curiosity  dying  out  of  them.  It 
was  the  same  in  Carriford  as  in  other  parts  of  the  world — 
immediately  circumstantial  evidence  became  exchanged  for 
direct,  the  loungers  in  court  yawned,  gave  a  fmal  survey, 
and  turned  away  to  a  subject  which  would  afford  more  scope 
for  speculation. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE  EVENTS  OF  THREE  WEEKS. 
§  I.  From  the  twelfth  of  February  to  the  second  of  Man'h, 

OWEN  GRAYE'S  recovery  from  the  illness  that  had  in- 
capacitated him  for  so  long  a  time  was,  professionally, 
the  dawn  of  a  brighter  prospect  for  him  in  every  direction, 
though  the  change  was  at  first  very  gradual,  and  his  move- 
ments and  efforts  were  little  more  than  mechanical.  With 
the  lengthening  of  the  days,  and  the  revival  of  building  oper- 
ations for  the  forthcoming  season,  he  saw  himself,  for  the 
first  time,  on  a  road  which,  pursued  with  care,  would  proba- 
bly lead  to  a  comfortable  income  at  some  future  day.  But 
he  was  still  very  low  down  the  hill  as  yet. 

The  first  undertaking  entrusted  to  him  in  the  new  year, 
commenced  about  a  month  after  his  return  from  Southamp- 
ton. Mr.  Gradfield  had  come  back  to  him  in  the  wake  of 
his  restored  health,  and  offered  him  the  superintendence,  as 
clerk  of  works,  of  a  new  church  v/liich  was  to  be  built  at  the 
village  of  Palchurch,  ten  or  twelve  miles  north  of  Creston, 
and  about  half  tliat  distance  from  Carriford. 

"  I  am  now  being  paid  at  the  rate  of  a  hundred  and 
twenty  pounds  a  year,"  he  said  to  his  sister  in  a  burst  of 
thankfulness,  "and  you  shall  never,  Cytherea,  be  at  any 
tyrannous  lady's  beck  and  call  again  as  long  as  I  live. 
Never  pine  or  think  about  what  has  happened,  dear  ;  it's  no 
disgrace  to  you.  Cheer  up — you'll  be  somebody's  happy 
wife  yet." 

He  did  not  say  Edward  Springrove's,  for  greatly  to  his 
disappointment,  a  report  had  reached  his  ears  that  the  friend 
to  whom  Cytherea  owed  so  much  had  been  about  to  pack, 
up  his  things  and  sail  for  Australia.  However,  this  was  be- 
fore the  uncertainty  concerning  Mrs.  Manston's  existence 
had  been  dispersed  by  her  return,  a  phenomenon  that  altered 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  28/ 

the  cloudy  relationship  in  which  Cytherea  had  lately  been 
standing  towards  her  old  lover,  to  one  of  distinctiveness  ; 
which  result  would  have  been  delightful,  but  for  circuni* 
stances  about  to  be  mentioned. 

Cytherea  was  still  i)ale  from  her  recent  illness,  and  still 
greatly  dejected.  Until  the  news  of  Mrs,  Manston's  return 
had  reached  them,  she  had  kept  herself  closely  shut  up  dur- 
ing the  daytime,  never  venturing  forth  excei^t  at  night. 
Sleeping  and  waking  she  had  been  in  perpetual  dread,  lest 
she  should  still  be  claimed  by  a  man  whom,  only  a  few 
weeks  earlier,  she  had  regarded  in  the  light  of  a  future  hus- 
band with  quiet  assent,  not  unmixed  with  cheerfulness. 

But  the  removal  of  the  uneasiness  in  this  direction — by 
Mrs.  Manston's  arrival,  and  her  own  consequent  freedom — 
had  been  the  iniposition  of  pain  in  another.  Utterly  ficti- 
tious details  of  the  finding  of  Cytherea  and  Manston  had 
been  invented  and  circulated,  unavoidably  reaching  her  ears 
in  the  course  of  time.  Thus  the  freedom  brought  no  hapjn- 
ness,  and  it  seemed  well-nigh  impossible  that  she  could  ever 
again  show  herself  the  sparkling  creature  she  once  had 
been, — 

••  Apt  to  entice  a  deity." 

On  this  account,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Owen 
made  a  point  of  concealing  from  her  the  real  state  of  his 
feelings  with  regard  to  tiie  unhappy  transaction.  He  writhed 
in  secret  under  the  humiliation  to  which  they  had  been  sub- 
jected, till  the  resentment  it  gave  rise  to,  and  for  which  there 
was  no  vent,  was  sometimes  beyond  endurance  ;  it  ind\iced 
a  mood  that  did  serious  damage  to  the  material  and  plod- 
ding perseverence  necessary  if  he  would  secure  permanently 
the  comforts  of  a  home  for  them. 

They  gave  up  their  lodgings  at  Creston,  and  went  to  Pal- 
church  as  soon  as  the  work  commenced. 

Here  they  were  domiciled  in  one  half  of  an  old  farm- 
house, standing  close  beneath  the  ivy-covered  church  tower 
(which  was  all  that  was  to  remain  of  the  original  structure). 
The  long  steep  roof  of  this  picturesque  dwelling  sloped 
nearly  down  to  the  ground,  the  old  tiles  that  covered  it  being 
overgrown  with  rich  olive-hued  moss.  New  red  tiles  in  twos 
and  threes  had  been  used  for  patching  the  holes  wrought  by 


288  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

decay,  lighting  up  the  whole  harmonious  surface  with  dots  of 
briUiant  scarlet. 

The  chief  internal  features  of  this  snug  abode  were  a  wide 
fireplace,  enormous  cupboards,  a  brown  settle,  and  several 
sketches  on  the  wood  mantel,  done  in  outline  with  the  i)oint 
of  a  hot  poker — the  subjects  mainly  consisting  of  old  mea 
walking  painfully  erect,  with  a  curly-tailed  dog  behind. 

After  a  week  or  two  of  residence  in  Palchurch,  and  ram- 
bles amid  the  quaint  scenery  circumscribing  it,  a  tranquillity 
began  to  spread  itself  through  the  mind  of  the  maiden,  which 
Graye  hoped  would  be  a  preface  to  her  complete  restora- 
tion. She  felt  ready  and  willing  to  live  the  whole  remainder 
of  her  days  in  the  retirement  of  their  present  quarters  ;  she 
began  to  sing  about  the  house  in  low  trenuilous  snatches  : — 

*'  — I  said,  if  there's  peace  to  be  found  in  the  world, 
A  heart  that  is  humble  may  hope  for  it  there." 


§  2.  The  third  of  March. 

Her  convalescence  had  arrived  at  this  point  on  a  certain 
evening  towards  the  end  of  the  winter,  when  Owen  had 
come  in  from  the  building  hard  by,  and  was  changing  his 
muddy  boots  for  slippers,  previously  to  sitting  down  to  toast 
and  tea. 

A  prolonged  though  quiet  knocking  came  to  the  door. 

The  only  person  who  ever  knocked  at  their  door  in  that 
way  was  the  new  vicar,  the  prime  mover  in  the  church-build- 
ing.    But  he  was  that  evening  dining  with  the  Squire. 

Cythcrea  was  uneasy  at  the  sound — she  did  not  know 
why,  unless  it  was  because  her  nerves  were  weakened  by  the 
sickness  she  had  undergone.  Instead  of  opening  the  door 
she  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  upstairs. 

"  What  nonsense,  Cytherea,"  said  her  brother,  going  to 
the  door. 

Edward  Springrove  stood  in  the  gray  light  outside. 

"Capital — not  gone  to  Australia,  and  not  going,  of 
course  !"  cried  Owen.  "  What's  the  use  of  going  to  such  a 
place  as  that — I  never  believed  that  you  would." 

"  I  am  going   back   to  London  again    to-morrow,"  said 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  289 

Springrove,    "  and    I    called   to  say   a   word   before  going. 
Where  is  .  .  .  ?  " 

"She  has  just  run  upstairs.  Come  in — never  mind  scrap- 
ing your  shoes — we  are  regular  cottagers  now ;  stone  floor, 
yawning  chimney-corner,  and  all,  you  see." 

"Mrs.  Manston  came,"  said  Edward,  awkwardly,  when 
he  had  sat  down  in  the  chimney-corner  by  preference. 

"  Ves."  At  mention  of  one  of  his  skeletons  Owen  lost 
his  blitlieness  at  once,  and  fell  into  a  reverie. 

"  'IMie  history  of  her  escape  is  very  simple." 

"  Very." 

"  You  know  I  always  had  wondered,  when  my  father  was 
telling  any  of  the  circumstances  of  the  fire  to  me,  how  it 
could  be  that  a  woman  should  sleep  so  soundly  as  to  be  un- 
aware of  her  horrid  position  till  it  was  too  late  even  to  give 
shout  or  sound  of  any  kind." 

"  Well,  I  think  that  would  have  been  possible,  considering 
her  long  wearisome  journey.  People  have  often  been  suffo- 
cated in  their  beds  before  they  awake.  But  it  was  hardly 
likely  a  body  would  be  completely  burnt  to  ashes  as  this  was 
assumed  to  be,  though  nobody  seemed  to  see  it  at  the  time. 
And  how  positive  the  surgeon  was,  too,  about  those  bits  of 
bone.  Why  he  should  have  been  so,  nobody  can  tell.  I 
cannot  helj}  saying  that  if  it  has  ever  been  possible  to  find 
pure  stupidity  incarnate,  it  was  in  that  jury  at  Carriford. 
There  existed  in  the  mass  the  stupidity  of  twelve  and  not 
the  penetration  of  one." 

"  Is  she  quite  well?"  said  Springrove. 

"Who? — O  my  sister,  Cytherea.  Thank  you,  nearly 
well,  now.     I'll  call  her." 

"Wait  one  minute.     I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

Owen  sat  down  again. 

"  You  know,  without  my  saying  it,  that  I  love  Cytherea  as 
dearly  as  ever  ....  I  think  she  loves  me,  too, — does  she 
really?" 

There  was  in  Owen  enough  of  that  worldly  policy  on  the 
subject  of  matchmaking  which  naturally  resides  in  the 
breasts  of  parents  and  guardians,  to  give  him  a  certain  cau- 
tion in  replying,  and,  younger  as  he  was  by  five  yeais  than 
Edward,  it  had  an  odd  effect. 
13 


290 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


"Well,  she  may  possibly  love  you  still,"  he  said,  as  if 
rather  in  doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  his  words. 

Springrove's  countenance  instantly  saddened  ,  he  had  ex- 
pected a  simple  "  Yes,"  at  the  very  least.  He  continued  in 
a  tone  of  greater  depression. 

"  Supposing  she  does  love  me,  would  it  be  fair  to  you  and 
to  her  if  I  made  her  an  offer  of  marriage,  with  these  dreary 
conditions  attached, — that  we  live  for  a  few  years  on  the 
narrowest  system,  till  a  great  debt,  which  all  honor  and  duty 
require  me  to  pay  off,  shall  be  ])aid  ?  My  father,  by  reason  of 
the  misfortune  that  befell  him,  is  undera  great  obligation  to 
Miss  Aldclyffe.  He  is  getting  old,  and  losing  his  energies. 
I  am  attempting  to  work  free  of  the  burden.  This 
makes  my  prospects  gloomy  enough  at  jiresent. 

"  But  consider  again,"  he  v.'ent  on.  "  Cytherea  ha§  been 
left  in  a  nameless  and  unsatisfactory,  though  innocent  state, 
by  this  unfortunate,  and  now,  void  marriage  with  Manston. 
A  marriage  with  me,  though  under  the — materially — un- 
toward conditions  I  have  mentioned,  would  make  us  hai)py  ; 
it  would  give  her  a  locus  standi.  If  she  wished  to  be  out  of 
the  sound  of  her  misfortunes  we  would  go  to  another  part  of 
England — emigrate — do  anything." 

"  I'll  call  Cytherea,"  said  Owen.  "  It  is  a  matter  which 
she  alone  can  settle."  He  did  not  speak  warmly.  His 
pride  could  not  endure  the  pity  which  Edward's  visit  and  er- 
rand tacitly  implied.  Yet,  in  the  other  affair,  his  heart  went 
with  Edward  ;  he  was  on  the  same  beat  for  paying  off  old 
debts  himself 

"  Cythie,  Mr.  Springrove  is  here,"  he  said,  at  the  foot  of 
the  staircase. 

His  sister  descended  the  creaking  old  steps  with  a  faltering 
tread;  and  stood  in  the  fire-light  from  the  hearth.  She  ex- 
tended her  hand  to  Springrove,  welcoming  him  by  a  mere 
motion  of  the  lip,  her  eyes  averted — a  habit  which  had  en- 
gendered itself  in  her  since  the  beginning  of  her  illness  and 
defamation.  Owen  opened  th.e  door  and  went  out — leaving 
the  lovers  alone.  It  was  the  first  time  they  had  met  since 
the  memorable  night  at  Southampton. 

*'  I  will  get  a  light,"  she  said,  with  a  little  embarrassment. 

"No — don't,  please,  Cytherea,"  slid  Edward,  softly. 
"  Come  and  sit  down  with  me." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


291 


"  O  yes.  I  ought  to  have  asked  yon  to,"  she  returned, 
timidly.  "  Everybody  sits  in  the  chimney-corner  in  this 
parish.     You  sit  on  that  side.     I'll  sit  here." 

Two  recesses — one  on  the  right,  one  on  the  left  hand — • 
were  cut  in  the  inside  of  the  fire  place,  and  here  they  sat 
down  facing  each  other,  on  benches  fitted  to  the  recesses, 
the  fire  giowing  on  the  hearth  between  their  feet.  Its  ruddy 
light  shone  on  the  underslopes  of  their  faces,  and  spread 
out  over  the  floor  of  the  room  with  the  low  horizontality  of 
the  setting  sun,  giving  to  every  grain  of  sand  and  tumor  in 
the  paving  a  long  shadow  towards  the  door. 

Edward  looked  at  his  pale  Love  through  the  thin  azure 
twines  of  smoke  that  went  up  like  ringlets  between  them, 
and  invested  her,  as  seen  through  its  medium,  with  the 
shadowy  appearance  of  a  phantom.  Nothing  is  so  potent 
for  coaxing  back  the  lost  eyes  of  a  woman  as  a  discreet 
silence  in  the  man  who  has  so  lost  them — and  thus  the 
l)atient  Edward  coaxed  hers.  After  lingering  on  the  hearth 
for  half  a  minute,  waiting  in  vain  for  anoLher  word  from  him, 
the}'  were  lifted  into  his  face. 

He  was  ready  i)rimed  to  receive  them. 

"  Cytherea,  will  you  marry  me  ?"  he  said. 

He  could  not  wait  in  his  original  position  till  the  answer 
came.  Stepping  across  the  front  of  the  fire  to  her  own  side 
of  the  chimney-corner,  he  reclined  at  her  feet,  and  searched 
for  her  hand.     She  continued  in  silence  awhile. 

"  Edward,  I  can  never  be  anybody's  wife,"  she  then  said, 
sadly,  and  with  firmness. 

"Think  of  it  in  every  light,"  he  pleaded;  "the  light  of 
love,  first.  Then,  when  you  have  done  that,  see  how  wise 
a  step  it  would  be.  I  can  only  offer  you  poverty  as  yet,  but 
1  want — I  do  so  long  to  secure  you  from  the  intrusion  of 
that  unpleasant  past,  which  will  ofcen  and  always  be  thrust 
before  you  as  long  as  you  live  the  shrinking  solitary  life  you 
do  now — a  life  which  purity  chooses,  it  may  be  ;  but  to  the 
outside  world  it  appears  like  the  enforced  loneliness  of 
neglect  and  scorn — and  tongues  are  busy  inventing  a  reasoa 
for  it  which  does  not  exist." 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  she  said,  hastily;  "and  those  are 
the  grounds  of  my  refusal.  You  and  Owen  knovv'  the  whole 
Iruth — the   two  1  love  best  on  earth — and  I  am  content. 


292 


DESPERA  TE  REMEDIES. 


But  the  scandal  will  be  continually  repeated,  and  I  can 
never  give  any  one  the  opportunity  of  saying  to  you — that 
— your  wife  .  .  ."  She  utterly  broke  down,  and  wept  hys- 
terically. 

"Don't,  my  own  darling!"  he  entreated.  "Don't,  Cy- 
therea  1 " 

"  Please  to  leave  me — we  will  be  friends,  Edward — but 
don't  press  me — my  mind  is  made  up — I  cannot — I  will  not 
marry  you  or  any  man  under  the  present  ambiguous  circum- 
stances— never  will  I — 1  have  said  it :  never  ! " 

Tliey  were  both  silent.  He  listlessly  regarded  the  illum- 
inated blackness  overhead,  where  long  flakes  of  soot  floated 
from  the  sides  and  bars  of  the  chimney-throat  like  tattered 
banners  in  ancient  aisles  ;  whilst  through  the  square  open- 
ing in  the  midst  one  or  two  bright  stars  looked  down  upon 
them  from  the  gray  March  sky.  The  sight  seemed  to  cheer 
him. 

"  At  any  rate,  you  will  love  me  ?  "  he  murmured  to  her. 

"  Yes — always — forever  and  forever  !  " 

He  kissed  her  once,  twice,  three  times,  and  arose  to  his 
feet,  slowly  withdrawing  himself  from  her  side  towards  the 
door.  Cytherea  remained  with  her  gaze  fixed  on  the  f:re. 
Edward  went  out  grieving,  but  hope  was  not  extinguished 
even  now. 

He  smelt  the  fragrance  of  a  cigar,  and  immediately  after- 
wards saw  a  small  red  star  of  fire  against  the  darkness  of  the 
hedge.  Graye  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  lane,  smoking 
as  he  walked.  Springrove  told  him  the  result  of  the  inter- 
view. 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Edward,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  think 
my  sister  is  right." 

"  I  wish  you  would  believe  Manston  a  villain,  as  I  do," 
said  Springrove. 

"It  would  be  absurd  of  me  to  say  that  I  like  him  now — 
family  feeling  prevents  it,  but  I  cannot  in  honesty  say  de- 
liberately that  he  is  a  bad  man." 

Edward  could  keep  the  secret  of  Manston's  coercion  of 
Miss  Aldclyffe  in  the  matter  of  the  houses  a  secret  no 
longer.     He  told  Owen  the  whole  story. 

"That's  one  thing,"  he  continued,  "but  not  all.  What 
do  you  think  of  this — I  have  discovered  that  he  went  to 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


293 


Creston  post-office  for  a  letter  the  day  before  the  first 
advertisement  for  his  wife  appeared  in  the  papers.  One  was 
there  for  him,  and  it  was  directed  in  his  wife's  handwriting, 
as  I  can  i")rove.  This  was  not  till  after  the  marriage  with 
Cytherea,  it  is  true,  but  if  (as  it  seems  to  show)  the  adver- 
tising v/as  a  farce,  there  is  a  strong  presumption  that  the 
rest  of  the  piece  was." 

Owen  was  too  astounded  to  speak.  He  dropped  his  cigar, 
and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  his  companion, 

"Collusion!" 

"  Yes." 

"  With  his  first  wife  ?  " 

"  Yes — with  his  wife.     I  am  firmly  persuaded  of  it." 

"  What  did  you  discover  ?  " 

"  That  he  fetched  from  the  post-office  at  Creston  a  letter 
from  her  the  day  before  the  first  advertisement  appeared." 

Graye  was  lost  in  a  long  consideration.  "  Ah  !  "  he  said, 
"  it  would  be  difficult  to  prove  anything  of  that  sort  now. 
The  writing  could  not  be  sworn  to,  and  if  he  is  guilty  the 
letter  is  destroyed." 

"  I  have  other  suspicions — " 

"  Yes — as  you  said,"  interrupted  Owen,  who  had  not  till 
now  been  able  to  form  the  complicated  set  of  ideas  neces- 
sary for  picturing  the  position.  "  Yes,  there  is  this  to  be 
remembered — Cytherea  had  been  taken  from  him  before 
that  letter  came — and  his  knowledge  of  his  wife's  existence 
could  not  have  originated  till  after  the  wedding,  I  could 
have  sworn  he  beheved  her  dead  then.  His  manner  was 
unmistakable." 

"Well,  I  have  other  suspicions,"  repeated  Edward  ;  "and 
if  I  only  had  the  right — if  I  were  her  husband  or  brother, 
he  should  be  convicted  of  bigamy  yet." 

"  The  reproof  was  not  needed,"  said  Owen,  with  a  little 
bitterness.  "What  can  I  do — a  man  with  neither  money 
nor  friends — whilst  Manston  has  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  all  her 
fortune  to  back  him  up  ?  God  only  knows  what  lies  between 
the  mistress  and  her  steward,  but  since  this  has  transpired — - 
if  it  is  true — 1  can  believe  the  connection  to  be  even  an 
unworthy  one — a  thing  I  certainly  never  so  much  as  owned 
to  myself  before." 


294  DESPERATE  REMEDIES._ 


§  3.   The  fifth  of  March. 

Edward's  disclosure  had  the  effect  of  directing  Owen 
Graye's  thoughts  into  an  entirely  new  and  uncommon  channel. 

On  the  Monday  after  Springrove's  visit,  Owen  had  walked 
to  the  top  of  a  hill  in  the  neighborhood  of  Palchurch — a 
wild  hill  that  had  no  name,  beside  a  barren  down  wliere  it 
never  looked  like  summer.  In  the  intensity  of  his  medita- 
tions on  the  ever-present  subject,  he  sat  down  on  a  weather- 
beaten  boundary-stone  gazing  towards  the  distant  valleys — 
seeing  only  Manston's  imagined  form. 

Had  his  defenceless  sister  been  trifled  with  ?  that  was  the 
question  which  affected  him.  Her  refusal  of  Edward  as  a 
husband  was,  he  knew,  dictated  solely  by  a  humiliated  sense 
of  inadequacy  to  him  in  repute,  and  had  not  been  formed 
till  since  the  slanderous  tale  accounting  for  her  seclusion 
had  been  circulated.  Was  it  not  true,  as  Edward  had  hinted, 
that  he,  her  brother,  was  neglecting  his  duty  towards  her  in 
allowing  Mansion  to  thrive  unquestioned,  whilst  she  was 
hiding  her  head  for  no  fault  at  all  ? 

Was  it  possible  that  Mansion  was  sensuous  villain  enough 
to  have  contemplated,  at  any  moment  before  the  marriage 
with  Cytherea,  the  return  of  his  fust  wife,  when  he  should 
have  grown  weary  of  his  new  toy  ?  Had  he  believed  that, 
by  a  skilful  manipulation  of  such  circumstances  as  chance 
would  throw  in  his  way,  he  could  escape  all  susijicion  of  hav- 
ing known  that  she  lived  ?  Only  one  fact  within  his  own 
direct  knowledge  afforded  the  least  ground  for  such  a  suppo- 
sition. It  was  that,  possessed  by  a  woman  only  in  the  hum- 
ble and  unprotected  station  of  a  lady's  hired  companion,  his 
sister's  beauty,  great  as  it  was,  might  scarcely  have  been 
sufficient  to  induce  a  selfish  man  like  Mansion  to  make  her 
his  wife,  unless  he  had  foreseen  the  possibility  of  getting  rid 
of  her  again. 

"  But  for  that  stratagem  of  Manston's  in  relation  to  the 
Si^ringroves,"  Owen  thought,  "  Cythie  might  now  have  been 
the  happy  wife  of  Edward.  True,  that  he  inlluenced  Miss 
Aldclyffe  only  rests  on  Edward's  suspicions,  but  the  grounds 
are  good, — the  j^robability  is  strong/' 

He  went  indoors  and  questioned  Cytherex 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


295 


"On  the  night  of  the  fire,  who  first  said  that  Mrs.  Man- 
sion was  burnt  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know  who  started  the  report." 

"  Was  it  Manston  ?  " 

*'  It  was  certainly  not  he.  All  doubt  on  the  subject  wa? 
removed  before  he  came  to  the  spot, — that  I  am  certain  of. 
Everybody  knew  that  she  did  not  escape  after  the  house- 
was  on  fire,  and  thus  all  overlooked  the  fact  that  she  might 
have  left  before — of  course  that  would  have  seemed  such  an 
improbable  thing  for  anybody  to  do." 

"Yes,  until  the  ])orter's  story  of  her  irritation  and  doubt 
as  to  her  course,  made  it  natural." 

"  What  settled  the  matter  at  the  inquest,"  said  Cytherea, 
"was  Mr.  Manston's  evidence  that  the  watch  was  his  wife's." 

"  He  was  sure  of  that,  wasn't  he?" 

"  I  believe  he  said  he  was  certain  of  it." 

"  It  might  have  been  hers — left  behind  in  her  perturbation, 
as  they  say  it  was — impossible  as  that  seems  at  first  sight. 
Yes — on  the  whole,  he  might  have  believed  in  her  death." 

"  I  know  by  several  proofs  that  then,  and  at  least  for  some 
time  after,  he  had  no  other  thought  than  that  she  was  dead. 
I  now  think  that  before  the  porter's  confession  he  knew  some- 
thing about  her — though  not  that  she  lived." 

'-  Why  do  you  ?  " 

'■■  From  what  he  said  to  me  on  the  evening  of  the  wed- 
ding day,  when  I  had  fastened  myself  in  the  room  at  the 
hotel,  after  Edward's  visit.  He  must  have  suspected  that  I 
knew  something,  for  he  was  irritated,  and  in  a  passion  of 
unea.-y  doubt.  He  said  'You  don't  supjjose  my  first  wife  is 
come  to  light  again,  madam,  surely  ?  '  Directly  he  had  let 
the  remark  slip  out,  he  seemed  anxious  to  withdraw  it." 

"  That's  odd,"  said  Owen. 

"  I  thought  it  very  odd." 

"  Still,  we  must  remember  he  might  only  have  hit  upon 
the  thought  by  accident,  in  doubt  as  to  your  motive.  Yes, 
the  great  i)oint  to  discover  remains  the  same  as  ever — did 
he  doubt  his  first  impression  of  her  d.;ath  befo7-e  he  married 
you.  I  can't  help  thinkijig  he  did,  although  he  was  so  as- 
tounded at  our  news  that  night.      Edward  swears  he  did." 

"It  was  perhaps  only  a  short  time  before,"  said  Cytherea  ; 
"  when  he  could  hardly  recede  from  having  me." 


296  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"Seasoning  justice  with  mercy  as  usuai,  Cytherea.  'lis 
unfair  to  yourself  to  talk  like  that.  If  1  could  only  bring 
him  to  ruin  as  a  bigamist — supposing  him  to  be  one,  I  should 
die  ha])py.  That's  what  we  must  find  out  by  fair  means  or 
foul — was  he  a  wilful  bigamist." 

"  It's  no  use  trying,  Owen.  You  would  have  to  employ  a 
solicitor,  and  how  can  you  do  that  ?  " 

"  1  can't  at  all — 1  know  that  very  well.  But  neither  do  1 
altogether  wish  to  at  piresent — a  lawyer  must  have  a  case — 
facts  to  go  upon,  that  means.  Now  ihey  are  scarce  at  pres- 
ent— as  scarce  as  money  is  with  us,  and  till  we  have  found 
more  money  there  is  no  hurry  for  a  lawyer.  Perhai)s  by  the 
time  we  have  the  facts  we  shall  have  the  money.  The  only 
thing  we  lose  in  working  alone  in  this  way,  is  time— not  the 
issue  :  for  the  fruit  that  one  mind  matures  in  a  twelvemonth 
forms  a  more  perfectly  organized  whole  than  that  of  twelve 
minds  in  one  month,  especially  if  the  interests  of  the  single 
one  are  vitally  concerned,  and  those  of  the  twelve  are.  only 
hired.  But  there  is  not  only  my  mind  available — you  are  a 
shrewd  woman,  Cythie,  and  Edward  is  an  earnest  ally. 
Then,  if  we  really  get  a  sure  footing  for  a  criminal  prose- 
cution, the  crown  will  take  up  the  case." 

"  I  don't  much  care  to  press  on  in  the  matter,"  she  mur- 
mured.    "  What  good  can  it  do  us,  Owen,  after  all  ?  " 

"  Selfishly  sj^eaking,  it  will  be  this  good — that  all  the 
facts  of  your  journey  to  Southampton  will  become  known, 
and  the  scandal  will  die.  Besides,  Mansion  will  have  to 
sutler — it's  an  act  of  justice  to  you  and  to  other  women,  and 
to  Edward  Springrove." 

He  now  thought  it  necessary  to  tell  her  of  the  real  nature 
of  the  Springroves'  obligation  to  Miss  Aldclyffe — and  their 
nearly  certain  knowledge  that  Manston  was  the  prime  mover 
in  effecting  their  embarrassment.  Her  face  tlushed  as  she 
listened. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  "  our  first  undertaking  is  to  find  out 
where  Mrs.  Manston  lived  during  the  separation  ;  next, 
when  the  first  communication  passed  between  them  after  the 
fire." 

"  If  we  only  had  Miss  Aldclyffe's  countenance  and  assist- 
ance as  I  used  to  have  them,"  Cytherea  returned,  "how 
strong  we  should  be.     O,  what  power  is  it  that  he  exercises 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  297 

over  her,  swaying  her  just  as  he  wishes  !  She  loves  me  now. 
Mrs.  Morris  in  her  letter  said  that  Miss  Aldclyfte  i^rayed  for 
me — yes,  she  heard  her  praying  for  me,  and  crying.  Miss 
Aldclyffe  did  not  mind  an  old  friend  like  Mrs,  Morris 
knowing  it  either.  Yet  in  opi^osition  to  this,  notice  her 
dead  silence  and  inaction  throughout  this  proceeding." 

"  It  is  a  mystery  ;  but  never  mind  that  now,"  said  Owen 
impressively.  "  About  where  Mrs.  Manston  has  been  living. 
We  must  get  this  part  of  it  first— learn  the  place  of  her  stay 
in  the  early  stage  of  their  separation,  during  the  period  of 
Manston' s  arrival  here  and  so  on,  for  that  was  where  she  was 
first  communicated  with  on  the  subject  of  coming  to  Knap- 
water,  before  the  fire ;  and  that  address,  too,  was  her  [joint 
of  departure  when  she  came  to  her  husband  by  stealth  in  the 
night — you  know — the  time  I  visited  you  in  the  evening 
and  went  home  early  in  the  morning,  and  it  was  found  that 
he  had  been  visited  too.  Ah  !  couldn't  we  inquire  of  Mrs. 
Leat,  who  keeps  the  post-office  at  Carriford,  if  she  remem- 
bers where  the  letters  to  Mrs.  Manston  were  directed  ?  " 

"  He  never  posted  his  letters  to  her  in  the  parish — it  was 
remarked  at  the  time.  I  was  thinking  if  something  relating 
to  her  address  might  not  be  found  in  the  report  of  the 
Froominster  Chronicle  of  the  date.  Some  facts  about  the  in- 
quest were  given  in  the  papers  to  a  certainty." 

Her  brother  caught  eagerly  at  the  suggestion. 

"Who  has  a  file  of  the  Chronicles V^  he  said. 

"Mr.  Rauniiam  used  to  file  them,"  said  Cytherea.  "He 
was  rather  friendly  disposed  towards  me  too." 

Owen  could  not  on  any  consideration  escape  from  his  at- 
tendance at  the  church-building  till  Saturday  evening  ;  and 
thus  it  became  necessary,  unless  they  actually  wasted  time, 
that  Cytherea  herself  should  assist.  "  1  act  undrrr  your  or- 
ders, Owen,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE   EVENTS   OF    ONE   WEEK. 
§   I.  Afarch  the  sixth. 

THE  next  morning  the  opening  move  of  the  game  was 
made.  Cytherea,  under  cover  of  a  thick  veil,  vvalkeil 
to  Froominster  railway  station  and  took  the  train  for  Carri- 
ford  Road.  It  was  with  a  renewed  sense  of  depression  that 
she  saw  again  the  objects  which  had  become  familiar  to  her 
eye  during  her  sojourn  under  Miss  Aldclyffe's  roof, — the  out- 
Une  of  the  mills,  the  meadow  streams,  the  old  park  trees. 
She  hastened  by  a  lonely  path  to  the  rectory  house,  and 
asked  if  Mr.  Raunham  was  at  home. 

Now  the  rector,  though  a  solitary  bachelor,  was  as  gallant 
and  courteous  to  womankind  as  an  ancient  Iberian  ;  and 
moreover,  he  was  Cytherea' s  friend  in  particular,  to  an  ex- 
tent far  greater  than  she  had  ever  surmised.  Rarely  visit- 
ing his  relative  Miss  Aldclyffe,  except  on  parish  matters, 
more  rarely  still  being  called  upon  by  Miss  Aldclyffe,  Cy- 
therea had  learnt  very  little  of  him  whilst  she  lived  at  Knap- 
water.  The  relationship  was  on  the  paternal  side,  and  for 
this  branch  of  her  family  the  lady  of  the  estate  had  never 
evinced  much  sympathy. 

In  looking  back  upon  our  line  of  descent  it  is  an  instinct 
with  us  to  feel  that  all  our  vitality  was  drawn  from  the  richer 
side  of  any  unequal  marriage  in  the  chain. 

Since  the  death  of  the  old  captain,  the  rector's  bearing  in 
Knapwater  House  had  been  almost  that  of  a  stranger,  a  cir- 
cumstance which  he  himself  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to 
n  gret.  This  ])olite  indifference  was  so  frigid  on  both  sides, 
that  the  rector  did  not  concern  himself  to  preach  at  her, 
which  was  a  great  deal  in  a  rector ;  and  she  did  not  take  the 
trouble  to  think  his  sermons  poor  stufit",  which  in  a  cynical 
female  was  a  great  deal  more. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


299 


TlioUj^h  barely  fifty  years  of  age,  his  hair  was  as  white  as 
snow,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  redness  of  his  skin, 
which  was  as  fresh  and  healthy  as  a  lad's.  Cytherea's  bright 
eyes,  mutely  and  demurely  glancing  up  at  him  Sunday  after 
Sunday,  had  been  the  means  of  driving  away  many  of  the 
saturnine  humors  that  creep  into  an  empty  heart  during  the 
hours  of  a  solitary  life  ;  in  this  case,  however,  to  supplant 
them,  when  she  left  his  parish,  by  those  others  of  a  more 
aching  nature  which  accompany  an  over-full  one.  In  short, 
he  had  been  on  the  verge  of  feeling  towards  her  that  passion 
to  which  his  dignified  self-respect  would  not  give  its  true 
name,  even  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  thought. 

He  received  her  kindly  ;  but  she  was  not  disposed  to  be 
frank  with  him.  He  saw  her  wish  to  be  reserved,  and  with 
genuine  good  taste  and  good  nature  made  no  comment 
whatever  upon  her  request  to  be  allowed  to  see  the  Chron- 
icle for  the  year  before  the  last.  He  placed  the  papers  before 
her  on  his  study  table,  with  a  timidity  as  great  as  her  own, 
and  then  left  her  entirely  to  herself. 

She  turned  them  over  till  she  came  to  the  first  heading 
connected  with  the  subject  of  her  search, — "  Disastrous  Fire 
and  Loss  of  Life  at  Carriford." 

The  sight,  and  its  calamitous  bearing  upon  her  own  life, 
made  her  so  dizzy  that  she  could,  for  a  while,  hardly  decipher 
the  letters.  Stifling  recollection  by  an  effort,  she  nerved 
herself  to  her  work,  and  carefully  read  the  column.  The 
account  reminded  her  of  no  other  fact  than  was  remembered 
already. 

She  turned  on  to  the  following  week's  report  of  the  in- 
quest. After  a  miserable  perusal  she  could  find  no  more 
pertaining  to  Mrs.  Manston's  address  than  this : — "  Abra- 
ham Brown,  of  Hoxton,  London,  at  whose  house  the  de- 
ceased woman  had  been  living,  deposed,"  etc. 

Nobody  else  from  London  had  attended  the  inquest. 

She  arose  to  depart,  first  sending  a  message  of  thanks  to 
Mr.  Raunham,  who  was  out  gardening. 

He  stuck  his  spade  into  the  ground,  and  accompanied  her 
to  the  gate. 

"Can  I  help  you  in  anything,  Cytherca?"  he  said,  using 
her  Christian  name  by  an  intuition  that  unpleasant  memories 
might  be  revived  if  he  called  her  Miss  (iraye  afrer  wishing 


300 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


her  good-by  as  Mrs.  Mansion  after  the  wedding.  Cytherea 
saw  the  motive  and  appreciated  it,  nevertheless  replying 
evasively, — 

"  I  only  guess  and  fear." 

He  earnestly  looked  at  her  again. 

**  Promise  me  that  if  you  want  assistance,  and  you  think  I 
can  give  it,  you  will  come  to  me." 

"  I  will,"  she  said. 

The  gate  closed  between  them. 

"You  don't  want  me  to  help  you  in  anything  now,  Cy- 
therea ?  "  he  repeated. 

If  he  had  spoken  what  he  felt,  "  I  want  very  much  to 
help  you,  Cytherea,  and  have  been  watching  Manston  on 
your  account,"  she  would  gladly  have  accepted  his  offer. 
As  it  was  she  was  perplexed,  and  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  not 
so  fearlessly  as  before  her  trouble,  but  as  modestly,  and  with 
still  enough  brightness  in  them  to  do  fearful  execution  as  she 
said  over  the  gate, 

"  No,  thank  you." 

She  returned  to  Palchurch  weary  with  her  day's  work. 
Owen's  greeting  was  anxious: 

"  Well,  Cytherea  ?  " 

She  gave  him  the  words  from  the  report  of  the  inquest, 
pencilled  on  a  slip  of  paper, 

"  Now  to  find  out  the  name  of  the  street  and  number," 
Owen  remarked. 

"  Owen,"  she  said,  "  will  you  forgive  me  for  what  I  am 
going  to  say?  I  don't  think  I  can — indeed  1  don't  think  I 
can — take  any  further  steps  towards  disentangling  the  mys- 
tery. I  still  think  it  a  useless  task,  and  it  does  not  seem 
any  duty  of  mine  to  be  revenged  upon  Mr.  Manston  in  any 
way."  She  added  more  gravely,  "  It  is  beneath  my  dignity 
as  a  woman  to  labor  for  this ;  I  have  felt  it  so  all  day." 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  somewhat  shortly,  "I  shall  work 
without  you  then.  There's  dignity  in  justice."  He  caught 
sight  of  her  pale  tired  face,  and  the  dilated  eye  which  always 
appeared  in  her  with  weariness.  "  Darling,"  he  continued, 
warmly,  and  kissing  her,  "you  shall  not  work  so  hard  again 
— you  are  worn  out  quite.  But  you  must  let  me  do  as  I 
Uke." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES  30? 


§  2.  March  the  tenth. 

On  Saturday  evening  Graye  hurried  off  to  Froominster, 
and  called  at  the  house  of  the  reporter  tj  the  Chronicle. 
The  reporter  was  at  home,  and  came  out  to  Graye  in  the 
passage.  Owen  explained  who  and  what  he  was,  and  asked 
the  man  if  he  would  oblige  him  by  turning  to  his  notes  of 
the  inquest  at  Carriford  in  the  December  of  the  year  preced- 
ing the  last — just  adding  that  a  family  entanglement,  of 
which  the  reporter  probably  knew  something,  made  him 
anxious  to  ascertain  some  additional  details  of  the  event,  if 
any  existed. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  other,  without  hesitation  ;  "  though 
I  am  afraid  I  haven't  much  beyond  what  we  printed  at  the 
time.  Let  me  see — my  old  note-books  are  in  my  drawer  at 
the  office  of  the  paper  :  if  you  will  come  with  me  I  can  refer 
to  them  there."  His  wife  and  family  were  at  tea  inside  the 
room,  and  with  the  timidity  of  decent  poverty  everywhere, 
he  seemed  glad  to  get  a  stranger  away  from  his  domestic 
groove. 

They  crossed  the  street,  entered  the  office,  and  went 
thence  to  an  inner  room.  Here,  after  a  short  search,  was 
found  the  book  required.  The  precise  address,  not  given  in 
the  condensed  report  that  was  printed,  but  written  down  by 
the  reporter,  was  as  follows  : 

"  Abraham  Brown,  Lodging-house  keeper,  41  Charles 
Square,  Hoxton," 

Owen  copied  it,  and  gave  the  reporter  a  small  fee.  "  I 
want  to  keep  this  inquiry  private  for  the  present,"  he  said, 
hesitatingly.  "You  will  perhaps  understand  why,  and 
oblige  me." 

The  reporter  promised.  "  News  is  shop  with  me,"  he 
said,  "  and  to  escape  from  handling  it  is  my  greatest  social 
enjoyment." 

It  was  evening,  and  the  outer  room  of  the  publishing- 
office  was  lighted  up  with  flaring  jets  of  gas.  After  making 
the  above  remark,  the  reporter  came  out  from  the  inner 
apartment  in  Graye's  company,  answering  an  expression  oi 


302 


DESPERATE ' REMEDIES. 


obligation  from  Owen  with  the  words  that  it  was  no  trouble. 
At  the  moment  of  his  sjieech,  he  closed  behind  him  the  door 
between  the  two  rooms,  still  holding  his  note-book  in  his 
hand. 

Before  the  counter  of  the  front  room  stood  a  tall  man, 
who  was  also  speaking,  when  they  emerged.  He  said  to  the 
)'Outh  in  attendance,  "  I  will  take  my  paper  for  this  week 
now  I  am  here,  so  that  you  needn't  post  it  to  me." 

The  stranger  then  slightly  turned  his  head,  saw  Owen,  and 
recognized  hun.  Owen  passed  out  without  recognizing  the 
other  as  Manston. 

Manston  then  looked  at  the  reporter,  who,  after  walking  to 
the  door  with  Owen,  had  comeback  again  to  lock  uphis  books. 
Manston  did  not  need  to  be  told  that  the  shabby  marblcr 
covered  book  which  he  carried  in  his  hand,  opening  end- 
ways and  interleaved  with  blotting-paper,  was  an  old  report- 
ing book.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  reporter's  face,  wliose 
experience  had  not  so  schooled  his  features  but  that  they  be- 
trayed a  consciousness,  to  one  half-initiated  as  the  other  was, 
that  his  late  proceeding  had  been  connected  with  events  in 
the  life  of  the  steward.  Manston  said  no  more,  but,  taking 
his  news])aper,  followed  Owen  from  the  office,  and  disap- 
peared in  the  gloom  of  the  street. 

Fvdward  Springrove  was  now  in  London  again,  and  on  this 
same  evening  before  leaving  Froouiinster,  Owen  wrote  a 
careful  letter  to  him,  statmg  therein  all  the  facts  that  had 
come  to  his  knowledge,  and  begging  him,  as  he  valued  Cy- 
therea,  to  make  cautious  inquiries.  A  tall  man  was  stand- 
ing under  the  lamp-post,  about  half  a  dozen  yards  above  liie 
post-office,  when  he  dropped  the  letter  into  the  box. 

That  same  night,  too,  for  a  reason  connected  with  the  ren- 
counter with  Owen  Graye,  the  steward  entertained  the  idea 
of  ruihing  off  suddenly  to  London  by  the  mail-train,  which 
left  Froominster  at  ten  o'clock.  But  remembering  that 
letters  posted  after  the  hour  at  which  Owen  had  obtained 
his  information — whatever  that  was — could  not  be  delivered 
in  London  till  Monday  morning,  he  changed  his  mind  and 
went  home  to  Knapwater.  Making  a  confidential  explana« 
tk)n  to  his  wife,  arrangements  were  set  on  foot  for  his  depart 
itte-by  t-be -mail  on -Sunday  night.  .    > 


DESPElfATE  REMEDIES.  .303 


§  3.  March  the  eleventh. 

Starting  for  church  the  next  morning  several  minutes  ear- 
lier than  was  usual  with  him,  the  steward  intentionally 
loitered  along  the  road  from  the  village  till  old  Mr.  Spring- 
rove  overtook  him.  Manston  spoke  very  civilly  of  the 
morning,  and  of  tlie  weather,  asking  how  the  fanner's  ba- 
rometer stood,  and  when  it  was  probable  that  the  wind  might 
change.  It  was  not  in  Mr.  Springrove's  nature — going  to 
church  as  he  was,  too — to  return  anything  but  a  civil  answer 
to  such  civil  questions,  however  his  feelings  might  have  been 
biased  by  late  events.  The  conversation  was  continued  on 
Terms  of  greater  friendliness. 

"You  must  be  feeling  settled  again  by  this  time,  Mr. 
Springrove,  after  the  rough  turn  out  you  had  on  that  terrible 
night  ui  Novenaben" 

"Ay,  but  I  don't  know  about  feelen  settled,  either,  Mr. 
Manston.  The  old  window  in  the  chimney-corner  of  the 
old  house  I  shall  never  forget.  No  window  in  the  chimney- 
corner  where  I  am  now,  and  I  had  been  used  to  en  for  more 
than  fifty  years.  Ted  says  'tis  a  great  loss  to  me,  and  he 
knows  exactly  what  1  feel." 

"  Your  son  is  again  in  a  good  situation,  I  believe  ?  "  said 
Manston,  iuutating  that  inquisitiveness  towards  inferiors  which 
passes  for  high  breeding  among  the  pinchbeck  aristocracy  of 
country  villages. 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  hope  he'll  keep  it,  or  do  something  else  and 
stick  to  it." 

"'Tis  to  be  hoped  he'll  be  steady  now." 

"  He's  always  been  that,  I  assure  ye,"  said  the  old  man, 
tartly. 

"Yes — yes — I  mean  intellectually  steady.  Intellectual 
wild  oats  will  thrive  in  a  soil  of  the  strictest  morality." 

"Intellectual  gingerbread  !  Ted's  steady  enough — that's 
all  1  know  about  it." 

"  Of  course — of  course.  Has  he  respectable  lodgings  ? 
My  own  ex[)erience  has  shown  me  that  that's  a  great  thing 
to  a  young  man  living  alone  in  London." 

"  Warwick  Street,  Charing  Crosii — that's  where  he  is." 

"  Well,   to   be   sure  —strange  !      A  very  dear   friend   ol 


304 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


mine  used  to  live  at  number  fifty-two  in  that  very  same 
street." 

"  Edward  lives  at  number  forty-nine — how  very  near  being 
the  same  house,"  said  the  old  farmer,  pleased  in  spite  of  him- 
self. 

"  Very,"  said  Mansion.  "  Well,  I  suppose  we  had  better 
step  along  a  little  quicker,  Mr.  Springrove  ;  the  parson's  bell 
has  just  begun." 

"  Number  forty-nine,"  he  murmured. 


§  4.  March  the  twelfth, 

Edward  -received  Owen's  letter  in  due  time,  but  on  ac- 
count of  his  daily  engagements  he  could  not  attend  to  any 
request  till  the  clock  had  struck  five  in  the  afternoon.  Rushing 
then  from  his  office  in  the  Adelphi,  he  called  a  Hansom  and 
proceeded  to  Hoxton.  A  few  minutes  later  he  knocked  at 
door  of  number  forty-one,  Charles  Square,  the  old  lodging  of 
Mrs.  Manston. 

A  tall  man,  who  would  have  looked  extremely  handsome 
had  he  not  been  clumsily  and  closely  wrapped  up  in  garments 
that  were  much  too  elderly  in  style  for  his  years,  stood  at 
the  corner  of  the  quiet  square  at  the  same  instant,  having, 
too,  alighted  from  a  cab  that  had  been  driven  along  Old 
Street  in  Edward's  rear.  He  smiled  confidently  when  Spring- 
rove  knocked. 

Nobody  came  to  the  door.     Springrove  knocked  again. 

This  brought  out  two  people — one  at  the  door  he  had 
been  knocking  upon,  the  otlier  from  the  next  on  the  right. 

"Is  Mr.  Brown  at  home  ?  "  said  Springrove. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  When  will  he  be  in  ?  " 

"  Quite  uncertain." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  may  find  him  ?  " 

"  No.     O  here  he  is  coming,  sir.     That's  Mr.  Brown." 

Edward  looked  down  the  pavement  in  the  direction  pointed 
out  by  the  woman,  and  saw  a  man  approaching.  He  pro- 
ceeded a  few  steps  to  meet  him. 

Edward  was  impatient,  and  to  a  certain  extent  still  a 
countryman,  who  had  not,  after  the  manner  of  city  men. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  305 

subdued  the  natural  impulse  to  speak  out  the  ruling  thought 
without  preface.  He  said  in  a  quiet  tone  to  the  stranger, 
"One  word  with  you — do  you  remember  a  lady  lodger  of 
yours  of  ihe  name  of  Mrs.  Manston  ?  " 

Mr.  Brown  half-closed  his  eyes  at  Springrove,  somewhat 
as  if  he  were  looking  into  a  telescope  at  the  wrong  end. 

"  I  have  never  let  lodgings  in  my  life,"  he  said,  after  his 
survey. 

'•^  l3idn't  you  attend  an  inquest  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  at 
Can  itord  ?  " 

"  Never  knew  there  was  such  a  place  in  the  world,  sir; 
and  as  to  lodgings,  I  have  taken  acres  first  and  last  during 
the  last'  thirty  years,  but  I  have  never  let  an  inch." 

"  I  suppose  there  is  some  mistake,"  Edward  murmured, 
and  turned  away.  He  and  Mr.  Brown  were  now  opposite 
the  door  next  to  the  one  he  had  knocked  at.  The  woman 
who  was  still  standing  there  had  heard  the  inquiry  and  the 
result  of  it. 

"  I  expect  it  is  the  other  Mr.  Brown,  who  used  to  live? 
there,  that  you  want,  sir,"  she  said  ;  "  the  Mr.  Brown  that 
was  inquired  for  the  other  day  ?  " 

"  Very  likely  that  is  the  man,"  said  Edward,  his  interest 
reawakening. 

"  He  couldn't  make  a  do  of  lodging-letting  here,  and  at 
last  he  went  to  Cornwall,  where  he  came  from,  and  where 
his  brother  still  lived,  who  had  often  asked  him  to  come  home 
again.  But  there  was  little  luck  in  the  change  ;  for  after 
London  they  say  he  couldn't  stand  the  rainy  west  winds  they 
get  there,  and  he  died  in  the  December  following.  Will  you 
step  into  the  passage?" 

"That's  unfortunate,"  said  Edward,  going  in,  "But  per- 
haps you  remember  a  Mrs.  Manston  living  next  door  to 
you  ?  " 

"O  yes,"  said  the  landlady,  closing  the  door.  "The 
lady  who  was  supposed  to  have  met  with  such  a  horrible  fate, 
and  was  alive  all  the  time.     I  saw  her  the  other  day." 

"  Since  the  fire  at  Carriford  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Her  husband  came  to  ask  if  Mr.  Brown  was  still 
living  here — just  as  you  might.  He  seemed  anxious  about 
it ;  and  then  one  evening,  a  weak  or  fortnight  afterwards, 
when  he  came  again  to  n)ake  further  inquries,  she  was  «itb 


3o6  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

him.  But  I  did  not  speak  to  her — she  stood  back,  as  if  she. 
were  shy.  I  was  interested  however,  for  old  Mr.  Brown  had 
told  me  all  about  her  when  he  came  back  from  the  in- 
quest." 

"  Did  you  know  Mrs.  Manston  before  she  called  the  other 
day?" 

"  No.  You  see  she  was  only  Mr.  Brown's  lodger  for  two 
or  three  weeks,  and  I  didn't  know  she  was  living  there  till 
she  was  near  upon  leaving  again — we  don't  notice  next-door 
people  much  here  in  London.  I  much  regretted  1  had  not 
known  her  when  I  heard  what  had  happened.  It  led  me  and 
Mr.  Brown  to  talk  about  her  a  great  deal  afterwards.  I  little 
thought  I  should  see  her  alive  after  all." 

"  And  when  do  you  say  they  came  here  together  ?  " 

"  I  don't  exactly  remember  the  day — though  I  remember 
a  very  beautiful  dream  I  had  that  same  night — ah,  I  shall 
never  forget  it  !  Shoals  of  lodgers  coming  along  the  square 
with  angels'  wings  and  bright  golden  sovereigns  in  their  hands 
wanting  apartments  at  West  End  prices.  They  would  not 
give  any  less  ;  no,  not  if  you — " 

"  Yes.  Did  Mrs.  Manston  leave  anything,  such  as  papers, 
when  she  left  these  lodgings  originally  ? "  said  Edward, 
though  his  heart  sank  as  he  asked.  He  felt  that  he  was  out- 
witted. Manston  and  his  wife  had  been  there  before  him, 
clearing  the  ground  of  all  traces. 

"  I  have  always  said  '  No '  hitherto,"  repUed  the  woman, 
"  considering  I  could  say  no  more  if  put  upon  my  oath,  as  I 
expected  to  be.  But  speaking  in  a  common  everyday  way 
now  the  occurrence  is  past,  I  believe  a  few  things  of  some 
kind  (though  I  doubt  if  they  were  papers)  were  left  in  a 
workbox  she  had,  because  she  talked  about  it  to  Mr.  Brown, 
and  was  rather  angry  at  what  occurred — you  see  she  had  a 
temper  by  all  account,  and  so  I  didn't  like  to  remind  the 
lady  of  this  workbox  when  she  came  the  other  day  with  her 
husband." 

"  And  about  the  workbox  ?  " 

"  Well,  from  what  was  casually  droj^ped,  I  think  Mrs. 
Manston  had  a  few  articles  of  furniture  she  didn't  want,  and 
when  she  was  leaving  they  were  i)ut  in  a  sale  just  by. 
Amongst  her  things  were  two  v/ojkboxes  very  much  alike. 
One  of  these  she  intended  to  sell,  the  other  she  didn't,  and 


DESPERA  TE   REMEDIES. 


307 


Mr.  Brown,  who  collected    the   things   toge'.her,   took    the 
wrong  one  to  the  sale." 

"  What  was  in  it  ?  " 

"  O  nothing  in  i^articular,  or  of  any  value — some  accounts, 
and  her  usual  sewing  materials  1  think — nothing  more. 
She  didn't  take  much  trouble  to  get  it  back — she  said  the 
bills  were  worth  nothing  to  her  or  anybody  else,  but  that  she 
should  have  liked  to  keep  the  box  because  her  husband  gave 
it  her  when  they  were  first  married,  and  if  he  found  she  had 
parted  with  it  he  would  be  vexed." 

'•  Did  Mrs.  Manston,  when  she  called  recently  with  her 
husband,  allude  to  this,  or  inquire  for  it,  or  did  Mr. 
Manston  ?" 

"  No — and  I  rather  wondered  at  it.  But  she  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  it — indeed  she  didn't  make  any  inquiry  at  all, 
only  standing  behind  him,  listening  to  his  ;  and  he  probably 
had  never  been  told  anything  about  it." 

"  Whose  sale  were  these  articles  of  hers  taken  ta?" 

"Who  was  the  auctioneer?  Mr.  Halway.  His  place  is 
the  third  turning  from  the  end  of  that  street  )'-ou  see  there. 
Anybody  will  tell  you  the  shop — his  name  is  written  uj)." 
.  Edward  went  off  to  follow  up  this  cine  witli  a  promptness 
which  was  dictated  more  by  a  dogged  will  to  do  his  utmost 
than  by  a  hope  of  doing  much.  When  he  was  out  of  sight, 
the  tall  and  cloaked  man,  who  had  watched  him,  came  up  to 
the  woman's  door,  with  an  appearance  of  being  in  breathless 
haste. 

"  Has  a  gentleman  been  here  inquiring  about  Mrs. 
Manston  ?" 

"Yes  ;  he's  just  gone." 

"  Dear  me  !  I  v/ant  him." 

"  He's  gone  to  Mr.  Hahvay's." 

*'  I  think  I  can  give  him  some  information  upon  the  sub- 
ject.    Does  he  pay  ];retty  liberally  ?  " 

"  He  gave  me  half  a-crown." 

"  That  scale  will  do.  I'm  a  poor  man,  and  will  see  what 
my  little  contribution  to  his  knowledge  will  fetch.  But  by 
the  way,  perhai)s  you  told  him  all  1  know — where  she  lived 
before  coming  to  live  here?" 

"  1  didn't  know  where  she  lived  before  coming  here.  O 
no — -I  only  said  what  Mr.  Brown  had  told  me.     He  seometi 


303  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

a  nice  genth  young  man,  or  I  shouldn't  have  been  so  open 
as  I  was." 

"  1  shall  now  about  catch  him  at  Mr.  Halway's,"  said  the 
man,  and  wjr.t  away  as  hastily  as  he  had  come. 

Edward  in  the  meantime  had  reached  the  auction-room. 
He  found  sjnie  difficulty,  on  account  of  the  inertness  of  those 
those  whose  only  inducement  to  an  action  is  a  mere  wish  from 
another,  in  getting  the  information  he  stood  in  need  of,  but  it 
was  at  last  accorded  him.  The  auctioneer's  book  gave  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Higgins,  3  Can  ley  Passage,  as  the  jnirchaser 
of  the  lot  which  had  included  Mrs.  Mansion's  workbox. 

Thither  Edward  went,  followed  by  the  man.  Four  bell- 
pulls  one  above  the  other  like  waistcoat  buttons,  appeared 
on  i\\t  door-post.     Edward  seized  the  fust  he  came  to. 

"  Who  did  you  want?  "  said  a  thin  voice  from  somewhere. 

Edward  looked  above  and  around  him ;  nobody  was 
visible. 

"  Who  did  you  want  ?  "  said  the  thin  voice  again. 

He  found  now  that  the  sound  proceeded  from  below  the 
grating  covering  tlie  basement  window.  He  dropped  his 
glance  through  the  bars,  and  saw  a  child's  white  face. 

"  Who  did  you  want  ?"  said  the  voice  the  third  time,  with 
precisely  the  same  languid  inflection, 

"  Mrs.  Higgins,"  said  Edward. 

"  Third  bell  up,"  said  the  face,  and  disappeared. 

He  pulled  the  third  bell  from  the  bottom,  and  was  ad- 
mitted by  another  child,  the  daughter  of  the  woman  he  was 
in  search  of.  He  gave  the  little  thing  sixpence,  and  asked 
for  her  mamma.     The  child  led  him  up-stairs. 

Mrs.  Higgins  was  the  wife  of  a  carpenter  who  from  want  of 
employment  one  winter  had  decided  to  marry.  Afterwards 
they  both  took  to  drink,  and  sank  into  desperate  circumstan- 
ces. A  few  chairs  and  a  table  were  the  chief  articles  of  furniture 
in  the  third-lloor  back  room  which  they  occupied.  A  roll  of 
baby-linen  lay  on  the  floor ;  beside  it  a  i)ap  cloaged  spoon  and 
an  overturned  tin  paj)-cup.  Against  the  wall  a  l^utch  clock  was 
fixed  out  of  level,  and  licked  wildly  in  longs  and  shorts,  its 
chains  and  weights  hanging  down  beneath  its  wliite  face  and 
wiry  hands,  like  the  dropi-iings  from  a  Harpy;  (" fcedissima 
ventris  proluvies,  uncceque  manus,  et  pallida  semper  ora."  ) 
A  baby  was  crying  against  every  chair-leg,  the  whole  fam- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


309 


ily  of  six  or  seven  being  small  enough  to  be  covered  by  a 
washing-tub.  Mrs.  Higgins  sat  helpless,  clothed  in  a  dres« 
which  had  hooks  and  eyes  in  plenty,  but  never  one  opposite 
the  other,  thereby  redering  the  dress  almost  useless  as  a 
screen  to  the  bosom.     No  workbox  was  visible  anywhere. 

It  was  a  depresssing  picture  of  married  life  among  the 
very  poor  of  a  city.  Only  for  one  short  hour  in  the  whole 
twenty-four  did  husband  and  wife  taste  genuine  happiness. 
It  was  in  the  evening,  when,  after  the  sale  of  some  necessary 
article  of  furniture,  they  were  under  the  influence  of  a  bottle 
of  gin. 

Of  all  the  ingenious  and  cruel  satires  that  from  the  begin- 
ning till  now  have  been  stuck  like  knives  into  womankind, 
surely  there  is  not  one  so  lacerating  to  them,  and  to  us  who 
love  them,  as  the  trite  old  fact,  that  the  most  wretched  of 
men  can,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  find  a  wife  ready  to  be 
more  wretched  still  for  the  sake  of  his  company. 

Edward  hastened  to  dispatch  his  errand. 

Mrs.  Higgins  had  lately  pawned  the  workbox  with  other 
useless  articles  of  lumber,  she  said.  Edward  bought  the 
duplicate  of  her,  and  went  downstairs  to  the  |)awnbroker's. 

In  the  back  division  of  a  musty  shop,  amid  the  hetero- 
geneous collection  of  articles  and  odors  invariably  crowd- 
ing such  places,  he  produced  his  ticket,  and  with  a  sense  of 
satisfaction  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  probable  worth  of 
his  acquisition,  took  the  box  and  carried  it  off  under  his 
arm.  He  attem[)ted  to  lift  the  cover  as  he  walked,  but 
found  it  locked. 

It  was  dusk  when  Springrove  reached  his  lodging.  En- 
tering his  small  sitting-room,  the  front  apartment  on  the 
ground  floor,  he  struck  a  light,  and  proceeded  to  learn  if  any 
scrap  or  mark  within  or  upon  his  i)urchase  rendered  it  of 
moment  to  the  business  in  hand.  Breaking  open  the  cover 
with  a  small  chisel,  and  lifting  the  tray,  he  glanced  eagerly 
beneath,  and  found — nothing. 

He  next  discovered  that  a  pocket  or  portfolio  was  formed 
on  the  underside  of  the  cover.  This  he  unfastened,  and 
slipping  his  hand  within,  found  that  it  really  contained  some 
substance.  First  hj  i)ullc;d  out  about  a  dozen  tangled  silk 
ai;d  cotton  threads  Under  them  were  a  short  household 
account,  a  dry  moss-rosebud,  and  an  old  pair  of  carte-de- 


310 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


visite  photographs.  One  of  these  was  a  likeness  of  Mrs. 
Mansion — "Eunice"  being  written  under  it  in  ink,--the 
other  of  Manston  himself. 

He  sat  down  dispirited.  This  was  all  the  fruit  of  his  task 
— not  a  single  letter,  date,  or  address  of  any  kind  to  help 
him — and  was  it  likely  there  would  be  ? 

However,  thinking  he  would  send  the  fragments,  such  as 
they  were,  to  Graye,  in  order  to  satisfy  him  that  he  had  done 
his  best  so  far,  he  scribbled  a  line,  and  put  all  except  the 
silk  and  cotton  into  an  envelope.  Looking  at  his  watch  he 
found  it  was  then  twenty  minutes  to  seven  ;  by  affixing  an 
extra  stamp  he  would  be  enabled  to  dispatch  them  by  tliat 
evening's  post.  He  hastily  directed  the  jiacket,  and  ran  with 
\l  at  once  to  the  post-office  at  Charing  Cross. 

On  his  return  he  took  up  the  workbox  again  to  examine 
it  more  leisurely.  He  then  found  there  was  also  a  small 
cavity  in  the  tray  under  the  pincushion,  which  was  movable 
bva  bit  of  ribbon.  Lifting  this  lie  uncovered  a  flattened  sprig 
of  myrtle,  and  a  small  scrap  of  crumpled  paper.  The  paper 
contained  a  verse  or  two  in  a  man's  handwriting.  He  re- 
cognized it  as  Mansion's,  having  seen  notes  and  bills  from 
him  at  his  father's  house.  The  stanza  was  of  a  complimen- 
tary cliaracter,  descriptive  of  the  lady  who  was  now  Man- 
sion's wife. 

"  EUNICE. 

"  Whoso  for  hours  or  lengthy  days 
Shall  catch  her  aspect's  changeful  rays, 
Then  turn  away,  can  none  recall 
Beyond  a  galaxy  of  all 

In  hazy  portraiture  ; 
Lit  by  the  light  of  azure  eyes 
Like  summer  days  by  summer  skies : 
Her  sweet  trani^itions  seem  to  be 
A  kind  of  pictured  melody, 

And  not  a  set  contour. 

"/E.  M." 

To  shake,  pull,  and  ransack  the  box  till  he  had  almost  de- 
stroyed it  wj.s  now  his  natural  action.  But  it  contained 
absohitely  nothing  more. 

"  Disapiiointed  again,"  he  said,  flinging  down  the  box,  the 
bit  of  paper,  and  the  withered  twig  that  had  lain  witn  it. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


311 


Yet  valueless  as  the  new  acquisition  was,  on  second 
Ihoughts  he  considered  that  it  would  be  worth  while  to  make 
good  the  statement  in  his  late  note  to  Graye — that  he  had 
sent  everything  the  box  contained  except  the  sewing-thread. 
Thereupon  he  enclosed  the  verse  and  myrtle-twig  in  anothei 
envelope,  with  a  remark,  that  he  had  overlooked  them  in  his 
first  search,  and  put  it  on  the  table  for  the  next  day's  post. 

In  his  hurry  and  concentration  upon  the  matter  that  oc- 
cupied him,  Springrove  on  entering  his  lodgings  and  obtain- 
ing a  light  had  not  waited  to  pull  down  the  blind  or  close 
the  shutters.  Consequently  all  that  he  had  done  had  been 
vi;>ible  from  the  street.  But  as  on  an  average  not  one  jjer- 
son  in  five  minutes  passed  along  the  quiet  pavement  at  this 
time  of  the  evening,  the  discovery  of  the  omission  did  not 
much  concern  his  mind. 

But  the  real  state  of  the  case  was,  that  a  tall  man  had 
stood  against  the  opposite  wall  and  watched  the  whole  of  his 
proceeding.  When  Edward  came  out  and  went  to  the  Charing 
Cross  post-office,  the  man  followed  him  and  saw  him  drop 
the  letter  into  the  box.  The  stranger  did  not  further  trouble 
himself  to  follow  Springrove  back  to  his  lodging  ngain. 

Manston  now  knew  that  there  had  been  photographs  of 
some  kind  in  his  wife's  workbox,  and  though  he  had  not 
been  near  enough  to  see  them,  he  guessed  whose  they  were. 
The  least  reflection  told  him  to  whom  they  had  been  sent. 

He  paused  a  minute  under  the  portico  of  the  post-office, 
looking  at  the  two  or  three  omnibuses  stopping  and  starting 
in  front  of  him.  Then  he  rushed  along  the  Strand,  through 
Holywell  Street,  and  on  to  Old  Boswell  Court.  Kicking 
aside  the  shoeblacks  who  began  to  importune  him  as  he 
passed  under  the  colonnade,  he  turned  up  the  narrow  pas- 
sage to  the  publishing-office  of  the  Post-Office  Directory. 
He  begged  to  be  allowed  to  see  the  Directory  of  the  South- 
west counties  of  England  for  a  moment. 

The  shopman  immediately  handed  down  the  volume  from 
a  shelf,  and  Manston  retired  with  it  to  the  window-bench. 
He  turned  to  the  county,  and  then  to  the  parish  of  Pal- 
church.  At  the  end  of  the  historical  and  topographical 
description  of  the  village  he  read, 

"Postmistress — Mrs.  Hurston.  Letters  received  at  6.30 
a.  lu.  by  foot-post  from  Mundsbury." 


312 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


Returning  his  thanks,  he  handed  back  the  book  and 
quitted  the  office,  thence  pursuing  his  way  to  an  obscure 
cofFse-house  by  the  Strand,  where  he  now  partook  of  a  Hght 
dinner.  But  rest  seemed  impossible  with  him.  Some  ab- 
sorbing intention  kept  his  body  continually  on  the  move. 
He  paid  his  bill,  took  his  bag  in  his  hand,  and  went  out 
to  idle  about  the  streets  and  over  the  river  till  the  time 
should  have  arrived  at  which  the  night  mail  left  the  Waterloo 
Station,  by  which  train  he  intended  to  return  homeward. 

There  exists  as  it  were  an  outer  chamber  to  the  mind,  in 
which,  when  a  man  is  occupied  centrally  with  the  most 
momentous  question  of  his  life,  casual  and  trifling  thoughts 
are  just  allowed  to  wander  softly  for  an  interval,  before  be- 
ing banished  altogether.  Thus,  amid  his  concentration  did 
Manston  receive  percei)tions  of  the  individuals  about  him  in 
the  lively  thoroughfare  of  the  Strand  :  tall  men  looking  in- 
significant :  little  men  looking  great  and  profound  :  lost 
women  of  miserable  repute '  looking  as  happy  as  the  days 
are  long  :  wives,  happy  by  assumption,  looking  careworn  and 
miserable.  Each  and  all  were  alike  in  this  one  respect,  that 
they  followed  a  solitary  trail  like  the  inwoven  threads  which 
form  a  banner,  and  all  were  equally  unconscious  of  the  sig- 
nificant whole  they  collectively  showed  forth. 

At  t('n  o'clock  he  turned  into  Lancaster  Place,  crossed 
the  river,  and  entered  the  railway  station,  where  he  took 
his  seat  in  the  down  mail-train,  which  bore  him,  and  Edward 
Sj)nngrcve's  letter  to  Graye,  far  away  from  London. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  EVENTS   OF  ONE  DAY. 
§  I.  March  the  thirteenth.     Three  to  six  o'clock  a.  m. 

THEY  entered  Mundsbury  Station — the  next  but  one 
to  Froominster  on  the  London  side — in  the  dead,  still 
time  of  early  morning,  the  clock  over  the  booking-office 
pointing  to  twenty-five  minutes  to  three.  Manston  lingered 
on  the  platform  and  saw  the  mail-bags  brought  out,  noticing, 
as  a  pertinent  pastime,  the  many  shabby  blotches  of  wax 
from  innumerable  seals  that  had  been  set  upon  their  mouths. 
The  guard  took  them  into  a  fly,  and  was  driven  down  the 
road  to  the  post-office. 

It  was  a  raw,  damp,  uncomfortable  morning,  though,  as 
yet,  little  rain  was  falling.  Manston  drank  a  mouthful  from 
his  flask  and  walked  at  once  away  from  the  station.  Avoid- 
ing Mundsbury  by  keeping  in  a  lane  which  curved  about  its 
outskirts,  he  pursued  his  way  through  the  gloom  till  he  stood 
on  the  side  of  the  town  opposite  to  the  railway  station,  at  a 
distance  from  the  last  house  in  the  street  of  about  two  hun- 
dred yards. 

Here  the  turnpike-road  into  the  country  lay,  the  first 
part  of  its  course  being  across  a  moor.  Having  surveyed 
the  highway  up  and  down  to  make  sure  of  its  bearing,  Man- 
ston methodically  set  himself  to  walk  backwards  and  forwards 
a  stone's  throw  in  each  direction.  Although  the  spring  was 
temi)erate,  the  time  of  day,  and  the  condition  of  suspense 
in  which  the  steward  found  himself,  caused  a  sensajion  of 
chilliness  to  pervade  his  frame  in  spite  of  the  overcoat  he 
wore.  The  drizzling  rain  increased,  and  drops  from  the 
trees  at  the  wayside  fell  noisily  upon  the  hard  road  be- 
neath them,  which  reflected  from  its  glassy  surface  the  faint 
halo  of  light  hanging  over  the  lamps  of  the  adjacent  town. 
14 


314 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


Here  he  walked  and  lingered  for  two  hours,  withonl 
seeing  or  hearing  a  living  soul.  Then  he  heard  the  market- 
house  clock  strike  live,  and  soon  afterwards,  quick,  hard 
footsteps  smote  upon  the  pavement  of  the  street  leading 
towards  hiin.  They  were  those  of  the  postnian  for  the  Pal- 
church  beat.  He  reached  the  bottom  of  the  street,  gave  liis 
bags  a  tinal  hitch-up,  stepped  off  the  pavement,  and  struck 
out  for  the  country  with  a  brisk  shuffle. 

Mansion  then  turned  his  back  upon  the  town,  and  walked 
slowly  on.  In  two  minutes  a  flickering  light  shone  upon  his 
form,  and  the  postman  overtook  him. 

The  new-comer  was  a  short,  stooping  individual  of  above 
five-and-forty,  laden  on  both  sides  with  leather  bags  large 
and  small,  and  carrying  a  little  lantern  strapped  to  his  breast, 
which  cast  a  tiny  patch  of  light  upon  the  road  ahead. 

"A  tryen  mornen  for  travellers!"  the  postman  cried,  in  a 
cheerful  voice,  without  turning  his  liead  or  slackening  his  trot. 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  said  Manston,  step])ing  out  abreast  of 
him.     "You  have  a  long  walk  every  day  " 

"  Yes — a  long  walk — for  though  the  distance  is  only  six- 
teen miles  on  the  straight — that  is  eight  to  the  furthest  place 
and  eight  back,  what  with  the  ins  and  outs  to  the  gentle- 
men's houses,  d'  make  two-and  twenty  for  my  legs.  Two- 
and-twenty  miles  a  day,  how  many  a  year?  1  used  to 
reckon  it,  but  I  never  do  now.  I  don't  care  to  think  o'  my 
wear  and  tear  now,  now  d'  begin  to  tell  upon  me." 

Thus  the  conversation  was  begun,  and  the  jjostman  pro- 
ceeded to  narrate  the  different  strange  events  that  had  marked 
his  experience.     Manston  grew  very  friendly. 

"Postman,  I  don't  know  what  your  custom  is,"  he  said, 
after  a  while  ;  "  but,  between  you  and  me,  1  always  carry  a 
drop  of  something  warm  in  my  pocket  when  I  am  out  on 
such  a  morning  as  this.  Try  it."  He  handed  the  bottle  of 
brandy. 

"  If  you'll  excuse  me,  please.  I  haven't  took  no  stimmi- 
lents  these  five  years." 

"'Tis  never  too  late  to  mend." 

"  Against  the  regulations,  I  be  afraid." 

"  Who'll  know  it  ?  " 

"  That's  true — nobody  will  know  it.  Still,  honesty's  the 
best  policy."  / 


DESPERA  TE  REMEDIES. 


315 


"  Ah—  it  is  certainly.  But,  thank  God,  I've  been  able  to 
get  on  without  it  yet.     You'll  surely  drink  with  me  ?  " 

"  Really,  'tis  a'most  too  early  for  that  sort  o'  thing — how- 
ever, to  oblige  a  friend,  I  don't  object  to  the  faintest  shadder 
of  a  drop."  The  postman  drank,  and  Mansion  did  the  same 
to  a  very  slight  degree.  Five  minutes  later,  when  they  came 
to  a  gate,  the  flask  was  pulled  out  again. 

"  W^ell  done  !  "  said  the  postman,  beginning  to  feel  its 
effect ;  "but,  guide  my  soul,  I  be  afraid  'twill  hardly  do  I  " 

"Not  unless  'tis  well  followed,  like  any  other  line  you 
take  up,"  said  Mansion.  "  Besides,  there's  a  way  of  liking 
a  drop  of  liquor,  and  of  being  good — even  religious — at  the 
same  time." 

"  Ay,  for  some  thimble-and-bntton  in-and-out  fellers ;  but 
I  could  never  get  into  the  knack  o'  it ;  not  I." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  be  troubled  ;  it  isn't  necessary  for  the 
higher  class  of  mind  to  be  religious — they  have  so  much 
common  sense  that  they  can  risk  playing  with  fire." 

"  That  hits  me  exactly." 

"  In  fact,  a  man  I  know,  who  always  had  no  other  god 
but  Me,  and  devoutly  loved  his  neighbor's  wife,  says  now 
that  believing  is  a  mistake." 

"Well,  to  be  sure  !  However,  believing  in  God  is  a  mis- 
take made  by  very  few  people,  after  all." 

"A  true  remark." 

"  Not  one  Christian  in  our  parish  would  walk  half  a  mile 
in  a  rain  like  this  to  know  whether  the  Scripture  had  con- 
cluded him  under  sin  or  grace." 

"  Nor  in  mine." 

"Ah,  you  may  depend  upon  it  they'll  do  away  wi'  Provi- 
dence altogether,  afore  long,  although  we've  had  him  over 
us  so  many  years." 

"There's  no  knowing." 

"And  I  suppose  the  Queen  will  be  done  away  wi'  then. 
\  pretty  concern  that'll  be  !  Nobody's  head  to  put  on  your 
letters  ;  and  then  your  honest  man  who  do  pay  his  penny 
will  never  be  known  from  your  scamp  who  don't.  O  'tis  a 
nation  !  " 

"  Warm  the  cockles  of  your  heart,  however.  Here's  the 
bottle  waiting." 

"  J'li  oblige  you,  my  friend." 


3i6  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  drinking  was  repeated.  The  postman  grew  livelier 
as  he  went  on,  and  at  length  favored  the  steward  with  a 
song,  Manston  himself  joining  in  the  chorus. 

"  lie  flung  his  mallet  against  the  wall, 

Said,  '  The  Lord  make  churches  and  chapels  to  fall. 
And  there'll  be  work  for  tradesmen  all  ! ' 
When  Joan's  ale  was  new. 
My  boys, 
When  Joan's  ale  was  new." 

"  You  understand,  friend,"  the  postman  added,  "  I  was 
originally  a  mason  by  trade :  no  ofl'ence  to  you  if  you  be  a 
parson  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,"  said  Manston. 

The  rain  now  came  down  heavily,  but  they  pursued  their 
path  with  alacrity,  the  produce  of  the  several  fields  between 
which  the  lane  wended  its  way  being  indicated  by  the  pe- 
culiar character  of  the  sound  emitted  by  the  falling  drops. 
Sometimes  a  soaking  hiss  proclaimed  that  they  were  passing 
by  a  pasture,  then  a  patter  would  show  that  the  rain  fell 
upon  some  large-leafed  root  crop,  then  a  paddling  {)lash  an- 
nounced the  naked  arable,  the  low  sound  of  the  wind  in 
their  ears  rising  and  falling  with  each  pace  the)'  took. 

Besides  the  small  private  bags  of  the  county  families, 
which  were  all  locked,  the  postman  bore  the  large  general 
budget  for  the  remaming  inhabitants  along  his  beat.  At 
each  village  or  hamlet  they  came  to,  the  postman  searched 
for  the  packet  of  letters  destined  for  that  ])lace,  and  thrust 
it  into  an  ordinary  letter-hole  cut  in  the  door  of  the  receiv- 
er's cottage — the  village  post-offices  being  mostly  kept  by  old 
women  who  had  not  yet  risen,  though  fights  moving  in  other 
cottage  windows  showed  that  such  people  as  carters,  wood- 
men, and  stablemen,  had  long  been  stirring. 

The  postman  had  by  this  time  become  markedly  unsteady, 
but  he  still  continued  to  be  too  conscious  of  his  duties  to 
suffer  the  steward  to  search  the  bag.  Manston  was  per- 
plexed, and  at  lonely  points  in  the  road  cast  his  eyes  keenly 
upon  the  short  bowed  figure  of  the  man  trotting  through  the 
mud  by  his  side,  as  if  he  were  half  inclined  to  run  a  very 
great  risk  indeed. 

It  frequently  happened  that  the  houses  of  farmers,  clergy 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


317 


men,  etc.,  lay  a  short  distance  up  or  down  a  lane  or  path 
branching  from  the  direct  track  of  the  postman's  journey. 
To  save  time  and  distance,  at  the  j^oint  of  junction  of  some 
of  these  lanes  with  the  main  one,  the  gate-post  was  hollowed 
out  to  form  a  letter-box,  in  which  the  postman  deposited  his 
missives  in  the  morning,  looking  in  the  box  again  in  the  ev- 
ening to  collect  those  placed  there  for  the  return  post.  Pal- 
church  Vicarage  and  Farmstead,  lying  apart  from  the  village, 
were  unitedly  served  on  this  principle.  This  fact  the  stew- 
ard now  learnt  by  conversing  with  tiie  postman,  and  the  dis- 
covery relieved  Manston  greatly,  making  his  intentions  much 
clearer  to  himself  than  they  had  been  in  the  earlier  stages  of 
his  journey. 

They  had  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  village.  Manston 
inbisted  upon  the  flask  being  emptied  before  they  proceeded 
further.  This  was  done,  and  they  ascended  the  sandy  hill 
from  which  branched  the  lane  leading  to  the  church,  the  vic- 
arage, and  the  farmhouse  in  which  Owen  and  Cytherea  were 
living. 

The  postman  paused,  fumbled  in  his  bag,  took  out  by  the 
light  of  his  lantern  some  half-dozen  letters,  and  tried  to  sort 
them.     He  could  not  perform  the  task. 

"We  be  crippled  disciples  a  b'lieve,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh 
and  a  stagger. 

"  Not  drunk,  but  market-merry,"  said  Manston,  cheerfully. 

"Well  done!  If  1  ben't  so  weak  that  I  can't  see  the 
clouds — much  less  letters.  Guide  my  soul,  if  so  be  anybody 
shc^"ld  tell  the  queen's  postmaster-general  of  me !  The 
whole  story  will  have  to  go  through  Parliament  House,  and 
I  shall  be  high-treasoned — as  safe  as  houses — and  be  lined, 
and  who'll  pay  for  a  poor  martel  1     O  'tis  a  world  !" 

"Trust  in  the  Lord — he'll  pay." 

"  He  pay  a  b'lieve  !  why  should  he  when  he  didn't  drink 
the  drink,  and  the  devil's  a  friend  o'  them  who  did?  He  pay 
a  b'lieve  !     U'ye  think  the  man's  a  fool  ?  " 

"  Well,  well,  1  had  no  intention  of  hurting  your  feelings — • 
Dut  how  was  1  to  know  you  were  so  sensitive  ?" 

"  True — you  were  not  to  know  1  was  so  sensitive.  Here's 
a  caddie  wi'  these  letters  I  Guide  my  soul,  what  will  Billy 
do!" 

Manston  offered  his  services. 


31 8  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  They  are  to  be  divided,"  the  man  said. 

"How?"  said  Manston. 

"These,  for  the  village,  to  be  carried  on  into  it:  any  fo! 
the  vicarage  or  vicarage-farm  must  be  left  in  the  box  of  tlie 
gate-post  just  here.  There's  none  for  the  vicarage-house 
this  mornen,  but  I  saw  wnen  I  started  there  was  one  for  the 
clerk  o'  works  at  the  new  church.     This  is  it,  isn't  it?  " 

He  held  up  a  large  envelope,  directed  in  Edward  Spring- 
rove's  handwriting, 

"MR.  OWEN  GRAVE, 
"  Clerk  of  Works, 
"  Palchurch, 

"Near  Mundsbury," 

The  letter-box  was  scooped  in  an  oak  gate-post  about  a 
foot  square.  There  was  no  slit  for  inserting  the  letters,  by 
reason  of  the  opportunity  such  a  lonely  spot  would  have  af- 
forded mischievous  peasant-boys  of  doing  mischief  had  such 
been  the  case ;  but  at  the  side  was  a  small  iron  door,  kept 
close  by  an  iron  reversible  strap  locked  across  it.  One  side 
of  this  strap  was  painted  black,  the  other  white,  and  white  or 
black  outwards  implied  respectively  that  there  were  letters  in- 
side or  none. 

The  postman  had  taken  the  key  from  his  pocket  and  was 
attempting  to  insert  it  in  the  keyhole  of  the  box.  He 
touched  one  side,  the  other,  above,  below,  but  never  made  a 
straight  hit. 

"  Let  me  unlock  it,"  said  Manston  taking  the  key  from  the 
postman.  He  opened  the  box  and  reached  out  with  his  other 
hand  for  Owen's  letter. 

"  No,  no.  Oh  no — no,"  the  postman  said.  "  As — one  of 
— Majesty's  servants — care — Majesty's  mails — duty — put  let- 
ters— own  hands."  He  slowly  and  solemnly  placed  the  let- 
ter in  the  small  cavity. 

"  Now  lock  it,"  he  said,  closing  the  door. 

The  steward  placed  the  bar  across,  with  the  black  side  out- 
wards, signifying  "  empty,"  and  turned  the  key. 

"You've  put  the  wrong  side  outwards  !"  said  the  postman. 
"'Tisn't  empty." 

"And  dropped  the  key  in  the  mud,  so  that  I  can't  alter  it,' 
said  the  steward,  letting  something  fall. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES,  319 

"What  an  awkward  thing!" 

"It  is  an  awkward  thing." 

They  both  went  searching  in  the  mud,  which  their  own 
trampUng  had  reduced  to  the  consistency  of  pap,  the  post- 
man unstrapi)ing  his  httle  lantern  from  his  breast,  and  thrust- 
ing it  about,  close  to  the  ground,  the  rain  still  drizzling  down, 
and  the  dawn  so  tardy  on  account  of  the  heavy  clouds  that 
daylight  seemed  delayed  indefinitely.  The  rays  of  the  lan- 
tern were  rendered  individually  visible  upon  the  thick  mist, 
and  seemed  almost  tangible  as  they  passed  off  into  it,  after 
illuminating  the  faces  and  knees  of  the  two  stooping  figures 
dripping  with  wet ;  the  postman's  cape  and  private  bags,  and 
the  steward's  valise,  glistening  as  if  they  had  been  varnished. 

"  It  fell  on  the  grass,"  said  the  postman. 

"  No :  it  fell  in  the  mud,"  said  Af anston.  They  searched 
again. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  shan't  find  it  by  this  light,"  said  the  stew- 
ard at  length,  washing  his  muddy  fingers  in  the  wet  grass  of 
the  bank. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  shan't,"  said  the  other,  standing  up. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we  had  better  do,"  said  Manston.  "  I 
shall  be  back  this  .way  in  an  hour  or  so,  and  since  it  was  all 
my  fault,  I'll  look  again,  and  shall  be  sure  to  find  it  in  the 
daylight.  And  I'll  hide  the  key  here  for  you."  He  pointed 
to  a  spot  behind  the  post.  "  It  will  be  too  late  to  turn  the  in- 
dex then,  as  the  people  will  have  been  here,  so  that  the  box 
had  better  stay  as  it  is.  The  letter  will  only  be  delayed  a 
day,  and  that  will  not  be  noticed  :  if  it  is,  you  can  say  you 
l^laced  the  iron  the  wrong  way  without  knowing  it,  and  all  will 
be  well." 

This  was  agreed  to  by  the  postman  as  the  best  thing  to  be 
done  under  the  circumstances,  and  the  pair  went  on.  They 
had  passed  the  village  and  come  to  a  cross-road,  when  the 
steward,  telling  his  companion  that  their  paths  now  diverged, 
turned  off  to  the  left  towards  Froominster. 

No  sooner  was  the  postman  out  of  sight  and  hearir:g  than 
Manston  stalked  back  to  the  vicarage  letter-box  by  keeping 
inside  a  fence,  and  thus  avoiding  the  village  ;  arrived  here, 
he  took  the  key  from  his  pocket,  where  it  had  been  con- 
cealed all  tlie  time,  and  abstracted  Owen's  letter.  This  done 
he  turned  towards  home,  by  the  help  of  what  he  carried  in 


320 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


his  valise  adjusting  himself  to  his  ordinary  appearance  as  he 
neared  the  quarter  in  which  he  was  known. 

An  hour  and  half  s  sharp  walking  brought  him  to  his  own 
door  in  Knapwater  Park. 


§  2,  Eight  d clock  a.  m. 

Seated  in  his  private  office  he  wetted  the  flap  of  the  stolen 
letter  and  waited  patiently  till  the  adhesive  gum  could  be 
loosened.  He  took  out  Edward's  note,  the  accounts,  the 
rosebud,  and  the  photographs,  regarding  them  with  the  keen- 
est interest  and  anxiety. 

The  note,  the  accounts,  the  rosebud,  and  his  own  photo- 
graph, he  restored  to  their  places  again.  The  other  photo- 
graph he  took  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  and  held  it  to- 
wards the  bars  of  the  grate.  There  he  held  it  for  half  a  min- 
ute or  more,  meditating. 

"  It  is  a  great  risk  to  run,  even  for  such  an  end,"  he  mut- 
tered. ^ 

Suddenly,  impregnated  with  a  bright  idea,  he  jumped  up 
and  left  the  office  for  the  front  parlor.  Taking  uj)  an  album 
of  portraits,  which  lay  on  the  table,  he  searched  for  three  or 
four  likenesses  of  the  lady  who  had  so  lately  displaced  Cy- 
therea,  which  were  interspersed  among  the  rest  of  the  col- 
lection, and  carefully  regarded  them.  They  were  taken  in 
different  attitudes  and  styles,  and  he  compared  each  singly 
with  that  he  held  in  his  hand.  One  of  them,  the  one  most 
resembling  that  abstracted  from  the  letter  in  general  tone, 
size,  and  attitude,  he  selected  from  the  rest,  and  returned 
with  it  to  his  office. 

Pouring  some  water  into  a  plate,  he  set  the  two  portraits 
afloat  upon  it,  and  sitting  down  tried  to  read. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  after  several  ineffect- 
ual attempts,  he  found  that  each  photograph  would  peel 
from  the  card  on  which  it  was  mounted.  This  done,  he 
threw  into  the  fire  the  original  likeness  and  the  recent  card, 
stuck  upon  the  original  card  the  recent  likeness  from  the 
album,  dried  it  before  the  fire,  and  placed  it  in  the  envelope 
with  the  other  scraps. 

The  result  he  had  obtained,  then,  was  this  :  in  the  en\'el- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  321 

ope  were  now  two  photogiaphs,  both  having  the  same  pho- 
tographer's name  on  the  back  and  consecutive  numbers 
attached.  At  the  bottom  of  the  one  which  showed  his  own 
likeness,  his  own  name  was  written  down  ;  on  the  other  his 
wife's  name  was  written  ;  wliilst  the  central  feature,  and 
whole  matter  to  which  this  latter  card  and  writing  referred, 
the  likeness  of  a  lady  mounted  upon  it,  had  bi^n  changed. 

Mrs.  Manston  entered  the  room,  and  begged  him  to  come 
to  breakfast.  He  followed  her,  and  they  sat  down.  During 
the  meal  he  told  her  what  he  had  done,  with  scrupulous  re- 
gard to  every  detail,  and  showed  her  the  result. 

"It  is  indeed  a  great  risk  to  run,"  she  said,  sipping  her  tea. 

"  But  it  would  be  a  greater  not  to  do  it." 

"  Yes." 

The  envelope  was  again  fastened  up  as  before,  and  Man- 
ston put  it  ill  his  pocket  and  went  out.  Shortly  afterwards 
he  was  seen  on  horseback  riding  in  a  direction  skirting  Froo- 
roinster  and  towards  Palchurch.  Keeping  to  the  fields,  as 
well  as  he  could,  for  the  greater  part  of  the  way,  he  dropped 
into  the  road  by  the  vicarage  letter-box,  and  looking  care- 
fully about;  to  ascertain  that  no  person  was  near,  he  restored 
the  letter  to  its  nook,  placed  the  key  in  its  hiding-place, 
as  he  had  promised  the  postman,  and  again  rode  home- 
wards by  a  roundabout  way. 


§  3.  Afternoon. 

The  letter  was  brought  to  Owen  Graye,  the  same  after- 
noon^ by  one  of  the  vicar's  servants  who  had  been  to  the 
box  with  a  duplicate  key,  as  usual,  to  leave  letters  for  the 
evening  post.  The  man  found  that  the  index  had  told  falsely 
that  morning  for  the  first  time  within  his  recollection  ;  but 
no  particular  attention  was  paid  to  the  mistake,  as  it  was 
considered.  The  contents  of  the  envelope  were  scrutinized 
by  Owen  and  flung  aside  as  useless. 

The  next  morning  brought  Springrove's  second  letter,  the 
existence  of  which  was  unknown  to  Manston.  The  sight  of 
Edward's  handwriting  again  raised  the  expectations  of  brother 
and  sister,  till  Owen  had  o\  ened  the  envelope  and  pulled 
out  the  twig  and  verse. 
14* 


322 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


"  Nothing  that's  of  the  slightest  use  after  all,"  he  said  to 
her,  "  we  are  as  far  as  ever  from  the  merest  shadow  of  legal 
proof  that  would  convict  him  of  what  I  am  morally  certain 
he  did,  marry  you,  suspecting,  if  not  knowing,  her  to  be  alive 
all  the  time." 

"  What  has  Edward  sent  ?  "  said  Cytherea. 

"  An  old  amatory  verse  in  Manston's  writing.  P'ancy,"  he 
said,  bitterly,  "  this  is  the  strain  he  addressed  her  in  when 
they  were  courting — as  he  did  you,  I  suppose." 

He  handed  her  the  verse  and  she  read, 

"  '  EUNICE. 

"  '  Whoso  for  hours  or  lengthy  days 

Shall  catch  her  aspect's  changeful  rays. 
Then  turn  away,  can  none  recall 
Beyond  a  galaxy  of  all 

In  hazy  portraiture ; 
Lit  by  the  light  of  azure  eyes, 
Like  summer  days  by  summer  skies. 
Her  sweet  transitions  seem  to  be 
A  kind  of  pictured  melody, 

And  not  a  set  contour. 

"'^.  M.'" 

A  strange  expression  had  overspread  Cytherea' s  counte* 
nance.  It  rapidly  increased  to  the  most  death-like  anguish. 
She  flung  down  the  paper,  seized  Owen's  hand  tremblingly, 
and  covered  her  face. 

"  Cytherea  !     What  is  it,  for  Heaven's  sake?" 

"Owen — suppose — O  you  don't  know  what  I  think." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  '  The  light  of  azure  eyes''  ^^  she  repeated  with  ashy  lips. 

"Well,  'the  light  of  azure  eyes'  ?"  he  said,  astounded  at 
her  manner. 

"  Mrs.  Morris  said  in  her  letter  to  me  that  her  eyes  are 
black!" 

"  H'm.  Mrs.  Morris  must  have  n)ade  a  mistake — nothing 
likelier." 

"She  didn't." 

"  They  might  be  either  in  this  photograph,"  said  Owen, 
looking  at  the  card  bearing  Mrs.  Manston's  name. 

"  Blue  eyes  would  scarcely  photograph  so  deep  in  tone  as 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


323 


that,"  said  Cytherea.  *'  No,  they  seem  black  liere,  cer 
tainly." 

"  Well  then,  Manston  must  have  blundered  in  writing  his 
verses." 

"  But  could  he  ?  Say  a  man  in  love  may  forget  his  own 
name,  but  not  that  he  forgets  the  color  of  his  mistress's  eyes. 
Besides,  she  would  have  seen  the  mistake  when  she  read 
them,  and  have  had  it  corrected." 

"That's  true  she  would,"  mused  Owen.  "Then,  Cythe- 
rea, it^  comes  to  this — you  must  have  been  misinformed  by 
Mrs.  IV^orris,  since  there  is  no  other  alternative." 

"  I  sjuppose  I  must." 

Her  looks  belied  her  words. 

"What  makes  you  so  strange — ill?"  said  Owen  again. 

"I  can't  believe  Mrs.  Morris  wrong." 

"  But  look  at  this,  Cytherea.  If  it  is  clear  to  us  that  the 
woman  had  blue  eyes  two  years  ago,  she  7nust  have  blue  eyes 
novv,  whatever  Mrs.  Morris  or  anybody  else  may  fancy. 
Any  one  would  think  that  Mansion  could  change  the  color 
of  a  woman's  eyes,  to  hear  you." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  paused. 

"You  say  yes,  as  if  he  could,"  said  Owen,  impati-ently. 

"  By  changing  the  woman  herself,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Owen, 
don't  you  see  the  horrid — what  I  dread  ? — that  the  woman 
he  lives  widi  is  not  Mrs.  Manston — that  she  was  burnt  after 
all— and  that  1  am  HIS  WIFE  !  " 

She  tried  to  support  a  stoicism  under  the  weight  of  this 
new  trouble,  but  no  !  The  unexpected  revulsion  of  ideas 
was  so  overwhelming  that  she  crept  to  him  and  leant  against 
his  breast. 

Before  reflecting  any  further  upon  the  subject  Graye  led 
her  upstairs  and  got  her  to  lie  down.  Then  he  went  to  the 
window  and  stared  out  of  it  up  the  lane,  vainly  endeavor- 
ing to  come  to  some  conclusion  upon  the  fantastic  enigma 
that  confronted  him.  Cytherea's  new  view  seemed  mcredi- 
ble,  yet  it  had  such  a  hold  ui)on  her  that  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  clear  it  away  by  j)ositive  proof  before  contemplation 
Off  her  fear  should  have  preyed  too  deeply  upon  her. 

"  Cytherea,"  he  said,  "  this  will  not  do.  You  must  stay 
here  alone  all  the  afternoon  wiilst  I  go  to  Carriford.  I  shall 
know  all  when  I  return." 


324  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  No,  no,  don't  go  ! "  she  imi)lored. 

"  Soon,  then,  not  directly."  He  saw  her  subtle  reasoning 
— that  it  was  folly  to  be  wise. 

Reflection  still  convinced  him  that  good  would  come  of 
persevering  in  his  intention  and  dispelling  his  sister's  idle 
fears.  Anything  was  better  than  this  absurd  doubt  in  her 
mind.  But  he  resolved  to  wait  till  Sunday,  the  fust  day  on 
which  he  might  reckon  upon  seeing  Mrs.  Manston  without 
suspicion.  In  the  meantime  he  wrote  to  Edward  Springrove. 
requesting  him  to  go  again  to  Mrs.  Manstcn's  former  lodging, 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE   EVENTS   OF   THREE   DAYS. 
§  I.  March  the  eighteenth. 

SUNDAY  morning  had  come,  and  Owen  was  trudging 
over  the  six  miles  of  hill  and  dale  that  lay  between  Pal- 
church  and  Carriford. 

Edward  Springrove's  answer  to  the  last  letter,  after  ex- 
pressing his  amazement  at  the  strange  contradiction  between 
the  verses,  and  Mrs.  Morris's  letter,  had  been  to  the  effect 
that  he  had  again  visited  the  neighbor  of  the  dead  Mr.  Brown 
and  had  received  as  near  a  description  of  Mrs.  Manston  as  it 
was  possible  to  get  at  second-hand,  and  by  hearsay.  She  was 
a  tall  woman,  wide  at  the  shoulders,  and  full-bosomed,  and 
she  had  a  straight  and  rather  large  nose.  The  color  of  her 
eyes  the  informant  did  not  know,  for  she  had  only  seen  the 
lady  in  the  street  as  she  went  in  or  out.  This  confusing  re- 
mark was  added.  The  woman  had  almost  recognized  Mrs. 
Manston  when  she  had  called  with  her  husband  lately,  but 
she  had  kept  her  veil  down.  Her  residence,  before  she  came 
to  Hoxton.  was  quite  unknown  to  this  next-door  neighbor, 
and  Edward  could  get  no  manner  of  clue  to  it  from  any  other 
source. 

Owen  reached  the  church  door  a  few  minutes  before  the 
bells  began  chiming,  Nobody  was  yet  in  the  church,  and  he 
walked  round  the  aisles.  From  Cytherea's  frequent  descrip- 
tion of  how  and  where  herself  and  others  used  to  sit,  he  knew 
where  to  look  for  Manston's  seat ;  and  after  two  or  three  er- 
rors of  examination  he  took  up  a  prayer-book  in  vs'hich  was 
written,  "  Eunice  Manston."  The  book  was  nearly  new,  and 
the  date  of  the  writing  about  a  month  earlier.  One  point 
was  at  any  rate  established  :  that  the  woman  living  with  Man- 
sion was  presented  to  the  world  as  no  other  than  his  lawful 
wife. 


326  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

The  quiet  villagers  of  Carriford  re(iuired  no  ]:)e\v-opener  in 
their  place  of  worship  :  natives  and  indwellers  iiad  their  own 
seats,  and  strangers  sat  where  they  could.  Gra3-e  took  a 
seat  in  the  nave,  on  the  north  side,  close  behind  a  pillar  divid- 
ing it  from  the  north  aisle,  which  was  completely  allotted  to 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  her  farmers  and  her  retainers.  Mansion's  pew 
being  in  the  midst  of  them.  Owen's  position  on  the  other 
side  of  the  passage  was  a  little  in  advance  of  Mansion's  seat, 
and  so  situated  that  by  leaning  forward  he  could  look  direct- 
ly into  the  face  of  any  person  sitting  there,  though,  if  he  sat 
upright,  he  was  wholly  hidden  from  such  a  one  by  the  inter- 
vening pillar. 

Aiming  to  keep  his  presence  unknown  to  Manston  if  pos- 
sible, Owen  sat  without  once  turning  his  head,  during  the  en- 
trance of  the  congregation.  A  rustling  of  silk  round  by  the 
north  ])assage  and  into  Mansion's  seat,  told  him  that  some 
female  had  entered  there,  and  as  it  seemed  from  the  accom- 
paniment of  heavier  footsteps,  Manston  was  with  her. 

Imujediately  upon  rising  up,  he  looked  intently  in  that  d> 
rection,  and  saw  a  lady  standing  at  the  end  of  the  seat  near- 
est himself  Portions  of  Mansion's  figure  appeared  on  the 
other  side  of  her.  In  two  glances  Graye  read  thus  many  o^ 
her  characteristics,  and  in  the  following  order. 

She  was  a  tall  woman. 

She  was  broad  at  the  shoulders. 

She  was  roundly  formed. 

She  was  easily  recognizable  from  the  photograph  ;  but 
nothing  could  be  discerned  of  the  color  of  her  eyes. 

With  a  preoccupied  mind  he  withdrew  into  his  nook,  and 
heard  the  service  continued — only  conscious  of  the  fact  that 
in  opposition  to  the  suspicion  which  one  odd  circumstance 
had  bred  in  his  sister  concerning  this  woman,  all  ostensible 
and  ordinary  proofs  and  probabilities  tended  to  the  opposite 
conclusion.  There  sat  the  genuine  original  of  the  portrait 
— could  he  wish  for  more  ?  Cylherea  wished  for  more.  Eu- 
nice Mansion's  eyes  were  blue,  and  it  was  necessary  that  this 
woman's  eyes  should  be  blue  also. 

Unskilled  labor  wastes  in  beating  against  the  bars  ten 
times  the  energy  exerted  by  the  jiractised  hand  in  the  effec- 
tive direction.  Owen  felt  this  to  be  the  case  in  his  own  and 
Edward's  attempts  to  follow  up  the   clue   afforded    them. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


327 


Think  as  he  might,  he  could  not  think  of  a  crucial  test  in  the 
matter  absorbing  him,  which  should  possess  the  indispensable 
attribute — a  capability  of  being  api)lied  ])rivately,  that  in  the 
event  of  its  proving  the  lady  to  be  the  rightful  owner  of  the 
name  she  used,  he  might  recede  without  obloquy  from  an  un 
tenable  position. 

But  to  see  Mrs.  Mansion's  eyes  from  where  he  sat  was  im- 
possible, and  he  could  do  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  direct 
examination  at  present.  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  possibly  recog- 
nized him,  but  Manston  had  not,  and  feeling  that  it  was  in- 
dispensable to  keep  the  purport  of  his  visit  a  secret  from  the 
steward,  he  thought  it  would  be  as  well  too  to  keep  his  pres- 
ence in  the  village  a  secret  from  him,  at  any  rate  till  the  day 
was  over. 

At  the  first  opening  of  the  doors,  Graye  left  the  church 
and  wandered  away  into  the  fields  to  ponder  on  another 
scheme.  He  could  not  call  on  Farmer  Springrove,  as  he  had 
intended,  until  this  matter  was  set  at  rest.  Two  hours  in- 
tervened between  the  morning  and  afternoon  services. 

This  time  had  nearly  expired  before  Owen  had  struck  out 
any  line  as  to  his  method  of  proceeding,  or  could  decide  to 
run  the  risk  of  calling  at  the  Old  House  and  asking  to  see 
Mrs.  Manston  point-blank.  But  he  had  drawn  near  the  place, 
and  was  standing  still  in  the  public  path,  from  which  a  j^ar- 
tial  view  of  the  front  of  the  building  could  be  obtained,  when 
the  bells  began  chiuiingfor  afternoon  service.  Whilst  Graye 
paused,  two  persons  came  from  the  front  door  of  the  half- 
hidden  dwelling,  whom  he  presently  saw  to  be  Manston  and 
his  wife. 

Manston  was  wearing  his  old  garden-hat,  and  carried  one 
of  the  monthly  magazines  under  his  arm.  Inniiediately  they 
had  passed  the  gateway  he  branched  off  and  went  over  the 
hill  in  a  direction  away  from  the  church,  evidently  intending 
to  ramble  along,  and  read  as  the  humor  moved  him.  The 
lady  meanwhile  turned  in  theother  direction,  and  went  along 
the  church  path. 

Owen  resolved  to  make  something  of  this  opportunity. 
He  hurried  along  towards  the  church,  doubled  round  a  sharp 
angle,  and  came  back  upon  the  other  path,  by  which  Mrs. 
Manston  must  arrive. 

In  about  three  minutes  she  appeared  in  sight  without  a 


328  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

veil.  He  discovered,  as  she  drew  nearer,  a  difficulty  which 
had  not  struck  him  at  first — that  it  is  not  an  easy  matter  tc 
particularize  the  color  of  a  stranger's  eyes  in  a  merely  casual 
encounter  on  a  j^ath  out  of  doors.  That  Mrs.  Mansion 
must  be  brought  close  to  him,  and  not  only  so,  but  to  look 
closely  at  him,  if  his  purpose  were  to  be  accomplished. 

He  adumbrated  a  plan.  It  might  by  chance  be  effectual  • 
if  otherwise,  it  would  not  reveal  his  intention  to  her. 

VV^hen  Mrs.  Manston  was  within  speaking  distance,  he  wenf 
up  to  her  and  said, 

"  Will  you  kindly  tell  me  which  turning  will  take  me  to 
Froomuibicr  ?  " 

"The  second  on  the  right,"  said  Mrs.  Manston. 

Owen  put  on  a  blank  look  :  he  held  his  hand  to  his  ear — 
conveying  to  the  lady  the  idea  that  he  was  deaf. 

She  came  closer  and  said  more  distinctly, 

"The  second  turning  on  the  right." 

Owen  Hushed  a  little.  He  fancied  he  had  beheld  the  rev- 
elation he  was  in  search  of.     But  had  his  eyes  deceived  him  ? 

Once  more  he  used  the  ruse,  still  drawing  nearer,  and  in- 
timating by  a  glance  that  the  trouble  he  gave  her  was  very 
distressing  to  him. 

"  How  very  deaf,"  she  murmured.    She  exclaimed  loudly, 

"  The  second  turning  to  the  right." 

She  had  advanced  her  face  to  within  a  foot  of  his  own, 
and  in  speaking  mouthed  very  emphatically,  fixing  her  eyes 
intently  upon  his.  And  now  his  first  suspicion  was  indubita- 
bly confirmed.     Her  eyes  were  as  black  as  midnight. 

All  this  feigning  was  most  distasteful  to  Graye.  The  rid- 
dle having  been  solved,  he  unconsciously  assumed  his  nat- 
ural look  before  she  had  withdrawn  her  face.  She  found  iiim 
to  be  peering  at  her  as  if  he  would  read  her  very  soul — ex- 
pressing with  his  eyes  the  notification  of  which,  ai)art  from 
emotion,  the  eyes  are  more  capable  than  any  other — in- 
quiry. 

Her  face  changed  its  expression — then  its  color.  The 
natural  tint  of  the  lighter  portions  sank  to  an  ashy  gray :  the 
pink  of  her  cheeks  grew  purpler.  It  was  the  precise  result 
which  would  remain  after  blood  had  left  the  face  of  one 
whose  skin  was  dark,  and  artificially  coated  with  pearl-powdei 
and  carmine. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


329 


She  turned  her  head  and  moved  away,  murmuring  a  hasty 
reply  to  Owen's  farewell  remark  of  "  Good-day,"  and  with 
a  kind  of  nervous  twitch  lifting  her  hand  and  smoothing  her 
hair,  which  was  of  a  light  brown  color. 

"  She  wears  false  hair,"  he  thought,  "  or  has  changed  its 
color  artificially.     Her  true  hair  matched  her  eyes." 

And  now,  in  spite  of  what  Mr.  Brown's  neighbors  had  said 
about  nearly  recognizing  Mrs.  Manston  on  her  recent  visit — ■ 
which  might  have  meant  anything  or  nothing  ;  in  spite  of 
the  photograph,  and  in  spite  of  his  previous  incredulity  ;  in 
consequence  of  the  verse,  of  her  silence  and  backwardness 
at  the  visit  to  Hoxton  with  Manston,  and  of  her  ap|)earance 
and  distress  at  the  present  moment,  Graye  had  a  conviction 
that  the  woman  was  an  impostor. 

What  could  be  Mansion's  reason  for  such  an  astounding 
trick  he  could  by  no  stretch  of  imagination  divine. 

He  changed  his  direction  as  soon  as  the  woman  was  out 
of  sight,  and  plodded  along  the  lanes  homeward  to  Pal- 
church. 

One  new  idea  was  suggested  to  him  by  his  desire  to  allay 
Cytherea's  dread  of  being  claimed,  and  by  the  difficulty  of 
believing  that  the  first  Mrs.  Manston  lost  her  life  as  su])- 
posed,  notwithstanding  the  inquest  and  verdict.  Was  it 
possible  that  the  real  Mrs.  Manston,  who  was  known  to  be 
a  Philadelphian  by  birth,  had  returned  by  the  train  to  Lon- 
don, as  the  i)orter  had  said,  and  then  left  the  country  under 
an  assumed  name,  to  escape  that  worst  kind  of  widowhood 
— the  misery  of  being  wedded  to  a  fickle,  faithless,  and 
truant  husband  ? 

In  her  complicated  distress  at  the  news  brought  by  her 
brother,  Cytherea's  thoughts  at  length  reverted  to  her  friend, 
the  rector  of  Carriford.  She  told  Owen  of  Mr.  Raunham's 
warm-hearted  behavior  towards  herself,  and  of  his  strongly 
expressed  wish  to  aid  her. 

"  He  is  not  only  a  good  but  a  sensible  man.  We  seem  to 
want  an  old  head  on  our  side." 

"And  he  is  a  magistrate,"  said  Owen  in  a  tone  of  concur- 
rence. He  thought  too  that  no  harm  could  come  in  confid- 
ing in  the  rector,  but  there  was  a  difficulty  in  brmging  about 
the  confidence.      He  wished  that  his  sister  and  himself  mi  Jjht 


330 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


both  be  present  at  an  interview  with  Mr.  Raunham,  yet  it 
would  be  unwise  for  them  to  call  on  him  together,  in  the 
sight  of  all  the  servants  and  parish  of  Carriford. 

There  could  be  no  objection  to  their  writing  him  a  letter. 

No  sooner  was  the  thought  born  than  it  was  carried  out. 
They  wrote  to  him  at  once,  asking  him  to  have  the  good- 
ness to  give  them  some  advice  they  sadly  needed,  and  beg- 
ging that  he  would  accept  their  assurance  that  there  was  a 
real  justification  for  the  additional  request  they  made — that 
instead  of  their  calling  upon  him,  he  would  any  evening  of 
the  week  come  to  their  cottage  at  Palchurch. 


§  2.  Alarch  the  twentieth.    Six  to  nine  o'clock  p.  m. 

Two  evenings  later,  to  the  total  disarrangement  of  hib 
dinner  hour,  Mr,  Raunham  appeared  at  Owen's  door.  His 
arrival  was  hailed  with  genuine  gratitude.  The  horse  was 
tied  to  the  palings,  and  the  rector  ushered  indoors  and  put 
into  the  easy-chair. 

Then  Graye  told  him  the  whole  story,  reminding  him  that 
their  first  suspicions  had  been  of  a  totally  different  nature, 
and  that  it  was  in  endeavoring  to  obtain  proof  of  their 
truth  they  had  stumbled  upon  marks  which  had  surprised 
them  into  these  new  uncertainties,  thrice  as  marvellous  as 
the  first,  yet  more  prominent. 

Cyiherea's  heart  was  so  full  of  anxiety  that  it  superinduced 
a  manner  of  confidence  which  was  a  death-blow  to  all  for- 
mality.    Mr.  Raunham  took  her  hand  pityingly. 

"It  is  a  serious  charge,"  he  said,  as  a  sort  of  original  twig 
on  which  his  thoughts  might  precipitate  themselves. 

"Assuming  for  a  moment  that  such  a  substitution  was 
rendered  an  easy  matter  by  fortuitous  events,"  he  continued; 
"  there  is  this  consideration  to  be  placed  beside  it — what 
earthly  motive  can  Mr.  Manston  have  had  which  would  be 
sufficiently  ]:)Owcrful  to  lead  him  to  run  such  a  very  great 
risk  ?  The  most  abandoned  roue  could  not,  at  that  particu- 
lar crisis,  have  taken  such  a  reckless  step  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  a  new  companion." 

Owen  had  seen  that  difficulty  about  the  motive  ;  Cytherea 
had  not. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


331 


"  Unfortunately  for  us,"  the  rector  resumed,  "  no  more 
evidence  is  to  be  obtained  from  the  porter  Chinney.  I 
suppose  you  know  what  went  with  him  ?  He  got  to  Liver- 
pool and  embarked,  intending  to  work  his  way  to  America, 
but  on  the  passage  he  fell  overboard  and  was  drowned. 
But  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  truth  of  his  confession — in  fact, 
his  conduct  tends  to  prove  it  true,  and  no  moral  doubt  of 
the  fact  that  Mrs.  Manston  left  Froominster  by  that  morn- 
ing's train.  This  being  the  case,  then,  why  did  she  take  no 
notice  of  the  advertisement — I  mean  not  necessarily  a 
friendly  notice,  but  from  the  information  it  afforded  her 
have  rendered  it  impossible  that  she  should  be  personified 
without  her  own  connivance  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  argument  is  overthrown,"  Graye  said,  "  by 
my  earliest  assumption  of  her  hatred  of  him,  weariness  of  the 
chain  which  bound  her  to  him,  and  a  resolve  to  begin  the 
world  anew.  Let's  suppose  she  has  married  another  man — 
somewhere  abroad,  say  ;  she  would  be  silent  for  her  own 
sake." 

"  You've  hit  the  only  genuine  possibility,"  said  Mr.  Raun- 
ham,  tapping  his  finger  upon  his  knee.  "  That  would  de- 
cidedly dispose  of  the  second  difficulty.  But  his  motive 
would  be  as  mysterious  as  ever." 

Cytherea's  pictured  dreads  would  not  allow  her  mind  to 
follow  their  conversation.  "She's  burnt,"  she  said.  "  O, 
yes  ;  I  fear — I  fear  she  is  ! " 

"  I  don't  think  we  can  seriously  believe  that  now,  after 
what  has  happened,"  said  the  rector. 

Still  straining  her  thought  towards  the  worst,  "  Then,  per- 
haps, the  first  Mrs.  Manston  was  not  his  wife,"  she  returned  ; 
"and  then  1  should  be  his  wife  just  the  same,  shouldn't  I  ?" 

"  They  were  married  safely  enough,"  said  Owen.  "  There 
is  abundance  of  circumstantial  evidence  to  prove  that." 

"Upon  the  whole,"  said  Mr.  Raunham,  "  1  should  advise 
your  asking  in  a  straightforward  way  for  legal  proof  from  the 
steward  that  the  present  woman  is  really  his  original  wife — • 
a  thing  which — to  my  mind,  you  should  have  done  at  the 
outset."  He  turned  to  Cytherea  kindly,  and  asked  her 
what  made  her  give  up  her  husband  so  unceremoniously. 

She  could  not  tell  the  rector  of  her  aversion  to  Manston^ 
and  of  her  unquenched  love  for  Edward. 


332 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


"Your  terrified  state,  no  doubt,"  he  said,  answering  for 
her,  in  the  n)anner  of  those  acrnstomed  to  the  i^ulpit.  "But 
into  such  a  solemn  comi^act  as  marriage,  all-important  con- 
siderations, both  legally  and  morally,  enter  ;  it  was  your 
duty  to  have  seen  everything  clearly  proved.  Doubtless 
Mr.  Manston  is  prepared  with  proofs,  but  as  it  concerns  no 
body  but  yourself  that  her  identity  should  be  publicly  estab 
lished  (and  by  your  absenteeism  yon  act  as  if  you  were  sat- 
isfied), he  has  not  troubled  to  exhibit  them.  Nobody  else 
has  taken  the  trouble  to  prove  what  does  not  affect  them  in 
the  least — that's  the  way  of  the  world  always.  You,  who 
should  have  required  all  things  to  be  made  clear,  rar 
away." 

"  That  was  partly  my  doing,"  said  Owen. 

The  same  explanation — her  want  of  love  for  Manston — 
applied  here  too,  but  she  shunned  the  revelation. 

"  But  never  mind,"  added  the  rector  ;  "  it  was  all  the 
greater  credit  to  your  womanhood,  perhaps.  I  say,  then, 
get  your  brother  to  write  a  line  to  Mr.  Manston,  saying  you 
wish  to  be  satisfied  that  all  is  legally  clear  (in  case  -you 
should  want  to  marry  again,  for  instance,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  that  you  will  be).  Or  if  you  would  rather,  I'll  write 
myself?" 

"  Oh,  no  sir,  no,"  pleaded  Cytherea,  beginning  to  blanch, 
and  breathing  quickly.  "  Please  don't  say  anything.  Let 
me  live  here  with  Owen.  I  am  so  afraid  it  will  turn  out 
that  I  shall  have  to  go  to  Knapwater  and  be  his  wife,  and  I 
don't  want  to.  Do  conceal  what  we  have  told  you.  Let 
him  continue  his  deception — it  is  much  the  best  for  me." 

Mr.  Raunham  at  length  divined  that  her  love  for  Manston, 
if  it  had  ever  existed,  had  transmuted  itself  into  a  very  difter- 
ent  feeling  now. 

"  At  any  rate,"  he  said,  as  he  took  his  leave  and  mounted 
his  mare,  "I  will  see  about  it.  Rest  content.  Miss  Gra3'e, 
and  depend  upon  it  that  I  will  not  lead  you  into  difficulty." 

"  Conceal  it,"  she  still  pleaded. 

"  We'll  see — but  of  course  I  must  do  my  duty." 

"  No — don't  do  your  duty  !  "  She  looked  up  at  him 
through  the  gloom,  illuminating  her  ovn  face  and  eyes  with 
the  candle  she  held. 

"  I  will   consider,   then, '    said    Mr.    Raunham,    sensibly 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


333 


moved.  He  turned  his  horse's  head,  bade  tliera  a  warm 
adieu,  and  left  the  door. 

'i'he  rector  of  Caniford  trotted  homewards  under  the  cold 
and  clear  March  sky,  its  countless  stars  fluttering  like  bright 
birds.  He  was  unconscious  of  the  scene.  Recovering  from 
the  effect  of  Cytherea's  voice  and  glance  of  entreaty,  he 
laid  the  subject  of  the  interview  clearly  before  himself. 

The  suspicions  of  Cylherea  and  Owen  were  honest,  and 
had  foundation — that  he  must  own. 

Was  he — a  clergyman,  magistrate,  and  conscientious  man 
— ^justified  in  yielding  to  Cytherea's  importunities  to  keep 
silence,  because  she  dreaded  the  possibility  of  a  return  to 
Mansion  ? 

Was  she  wise  in  her  request  ?  Holding  her  present  be- 
lief, and  with  no  definite  evidence  either  way,  she  could,  for 
one  thing,  never  conscientiously  marry  any  one  else. 

Suppose  that  Cytherea  were  Manston's  wife — i.e.,  that  the 
first  wife  was  really  burnt?  The  adultery  of  Manston  would 
be  proved,  and  Mr.  Raunham  thought,  cruelty  sufficient  to 
bring  the  case  within  the  meaning  of  the  statute. 

Suppose  the  new  woman  was,  as  stated,  Mr.  Manston's 
1  ^stored  wife?  Cytherea  was  perfectly  safe  as  a  single 
woman  whose  marriage  had  been  void. 

And  if  it  turned  out  that,  though  this  woman  was  not 
Manston's  wife,  his  wife  was  still  living,  as  Owen  had  sug- 
gested, in  America  or  elsewhere,  Cytherea  was  safe. 

The  first  supposition  opened  up  the  worst  contingency. 
Was  she  really  safe  as  Manston's  wife  ? 

Doubtful.  But  however  that  might  be,  the  gentle,  defence- 
less girl,  whom  it  seemed  nobody's  business  to  help  or 
defend,  should  be  put  in  a  track  to  proceed  against  this 
man. 

She  had  but  one  life,  and  the  superciliousness  with  which 
all  the  world  now  regarded  her,  should  be  compensated  for 
in  some  measure  by  the  man  whose  carelessness — to  set  hini 
in  the  best  light — had  caused  it. 

Mr.  Raunham  felt  more  and  more  positively  that  his  duty 
must  be  done.  An  inquiry  must  be  made  into  the  mat- 
ter. 

Immediately  on  reaching  home,  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
plain  and  friendly  letter  to  Mr.  Manston,  and  dispatched  il 


334  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

at  once  to  him  by  hand.  Then  he  flung  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  and  went  on  with  his  meditation. 

Was  there  anything  in  the  suspicion  ?  There  could  be 
nothing,  surely.  Nothing  is  done  by  a  clever  man  without 
a  motive,  and  what  conceivable  motive  could  Manston  have 
for  such  abnormal  conduct  ?  Corinthian  that  he  was,  who 
had  preyed  on  virginity  like  St.  George's  dragon,  he  would 
never  have  been  absurd  enough  to  venture  on  such  a 
course  for  the  possession  alone  of  the  woman — there  was  no 
reason  for  it — she  was  inferior  to  Cytherea  in  every  respect, 
physical  and  mental. 

On  the  other  hand  it  seemed  rather  odd,  when  he  analyzed 
the  action,  that  a  woman  who  deliberately  hid  herself  from 
her  husband  for  more  than  a  twelvemonth,  should  be  brought 
back  by  a  mere  advertisement.  In  fact,  the  whole  business 
had  worked  almost  too  smoothly  and  effectually  for  unpre- 
meditated sequence.  It  was  too  much  like  the  indiscriminate 
righting  of  everything  at  the  end  of  an  old  play. 

And  there  was  that  curious  business  of  the  keys  and  watch. 
Her  way  of  accounting  for  their  being  left  behind  by  forget- 
fulness,  had  always  seemed  to  him  rather  forced.  The  only 
unforced  explanation  was  that  suggested  by  the  newspaper 
writers — that  she  left  them  behind  on  purpose  to  blind  people 
as  to  her  escape,  a  motive  which  would  have  clashed  with 
the  possibility  of  her  being  fished  back  by  an  advertisement, 
as  the  present  woman  had  been. 

Again,  there  were  the  two  charred  bones. 

He  shuffled  the  books  and  i)apers  in  his  study,  and  walked 
about  the  room,  restlessly  musing  on  the  same  subject.  The 
parlor-maid  entered. 

"  Can  young  Mr.  Springrove  from  London  see  you  to- 
night, sir  ?  " 

"  Young  Mr.  Springrove  ?  "  said  the  rector,  surprised. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Yes,  of  course  he  can  see  me.     Tell  him  to  come  in." 

Edward  came  so  impatiently  into  the  room,  as  to  show 
that  the  few  short  moments  his  announcement  had  occupied 
had  been  irksome  to  him.  He  stood  in  the  doorway  with 
the  same  black  bag  in  his  hand,  and  the  same  old  gray 
cloak  on  his  shoulders,  that  he  had  worn  fifteen  months 
earlier  when  returning  on  the  n.ght  of  the  fire.     This  ap 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


335 


pearance  of  his  conveyed  a  true  impression ;  he  had  become 
a  stagnant  man.     But  he  was  excited  now. 

"  I  have  tins  moment  come  from  London,"  he  said,  as  the 
door  was  closed  behind  him. 

The  prophetic  insight,  which  so  strangely  accompanies 
critical  ex|)eriences,  proni])ted  Mr.  Raunham's  reply. 

"About  liie  Grayes  and  Manston?" 

"Yes.     That  woman  is  not  Mrs.  Manston." 

"  Prove  it." 

"1  can  prove  that  she  is  somebody  else — that  her  name  is 
A.nne  Seaway." 

"And  are  their  suspicions  true  indeed  !  " 

"  And  I  can  do  what's  more  to  the  purpose  at  present." 

"Suggest  Manston's  motive  ?  " 

"  Only  suggest  it,  remember.  But  my  assumption  fits  so 
perfectly  with  the  facts  that  have  been  secretly  unearthed  and 
conveyed  to  me,  that  1  can  hardly  conceive  of  anoLher." 

There  was  in  Edward's  bearing  that  entire  unconscious- 
ness of  himself  which,  natural  to  wild  animals,  only  prevails 
in  a  sensitive  man  at  moments  of  extreme  intentness.  The 
rector  saw  that  he  had  no  trivial  story  to  communicate, 
whatever  the  story  was. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Raunham.  "  My  mind  has  been  on 
the  stretch  all  the  evening  to  form  the  slightest  guess  at  such 
an  object,  and  all  to  no  purpose — entirely  to  no  purpose. 
Have  you  said  anything  to  Owen  Graye?" 

"Nothing — nor  to  anybody.  I  could  not  trust  to  the 
effect  a  letter  might  have  upon  yourself  either  :  the  intricacy 
of  the  case  brings  me  to  this  interview." 

Whilst  Springrove  had  been  speaking  the  two  had  sat 
down  together.  The  conversation,  hitherto  distinct  to  every 
corner  of  the  room,  was  carried  on  now  in  tones  so  low  as 
to  be  scarcely  audible  to  the  interlocutors,  and  in  phrases 
which  hesitated  to  complete  themselves.  Three-quarters  of 
an  hour  passed.  Then  Edward  arose,  came  out  of  the  rec- 
tor's study,  and  again  flung  his  cloak  around  him.  Instead 
of  going  thence  homeward,  he  went  first  to  the  Carriford 
Road  Station  with  a  telegram,  having  despatched  which  he 
proceeded  to  his  father's  house  for  the  fust  time  since  hij 
arrival  in  the  village. 


336 


DESPERA  TE  REMEDIES. 


§  3.  From  nine  to  ten  o'clock,  p.  m. 


The  next  presentation  is  the  interior  of  the  Old  House  on 
the  evening  of  the  preceding  section.  The-  steward  was  sit- 
ting by  his  parlor  fire,  and  had  been  reading  the  letter 
arrived  from  the  rectory.  Opposite  to  him  sat  the  woman 
known  to  the  village  and  neighborhood  as  Mrs.  Mansion. 

*'  Things  are  looking  desperate  with  us,"  he  said  gloomily. 
His  gloom  was  not  that  of  the  hypochondriac,  but  the  legit- 
imate gloom  which  has  its  origin  in  a  syllogism.  As  he 
uttered  the  words  he  handed  the  letter  to  her. 

"  I  almost  expected  some  such  news  as  this,"  she  replied, 
in  a  tone  of  much  greater  indifference.  "  I  knew  suspicion 
lurked  in  the  eyes  of  that  young  man  who  stared  at  me  so  in 
the  church  path  :  I  could  have  sworn  it." 

Manston  did  not  answer  for  some  time.  His  face  was 
worn  and  haggard  :  latterly  his  head  had  not  been  carried  so 
uprightly  as  of  old.  "If  they  prove  you  to  be — who  you 
are.  .  .  .  Yes,  if  they  do — "  he  murmured. 

"  They  must  not  find  that  out,"  she  said,  in  a  positive 
voice,  and  looking  at  him.  "  But  supposing  they  do,  the 
trick  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  so  serious  as  to  justify  that 
wretched,  miserable,  horrible  look  of  yours.  It  makes  my 
flesh  creep  :  it  is  perfectly  deathlike." 

He  did  not  reply,  and  she  continued,  "  If  they  say  and 
prove  that  Eunice  is  indeed  living, — and  dear,  you  know  she 
is,  she  is  sure  to  come  back." 

This  remark  seemed  to  awaken  and  irritate  him  to  speech. 
Again,  as  he  had  done  a  hundred  times  during  their  residence 
together,  he  categorized  the  events  connected  with  the  fire  at 
che  Three  Tranters.  He  dwelt  on  every  incident  of  that 
night's  history,  and  endeavored,  with  an  anxiety  which  was 
extraordinary  under  the  apparent  circumstances,  to  prove  that 
his  wife  must,  by  the  very  nature  of  things,  have  perished  in 
the  flames. 

She  arose  from  her  seat,  crossed  the  hearth-rug,  and  set 
herself  to  soothe  him  :  then  she  whispered  that  she  was  still 
as  unbelieving  as  ever.  "  Come,  supposing  she  escaped — • 
just  supposing  she  escaped — where  is  she  ?  "  coaxed  the  lady. 

"  Why  are  you  so  curious  continually  ?  "  said  Manston. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES,  337 

"  Because  I  am  a  woman  and  want  to  know.  Now  where 
is  she?" 

"  In  the  Flying  Isle  of  San  Borandan." 

"Witty  cruelty  is  the  cruellest  of  any.  Ah,  well — if  she 
is  in  England,  she  will  come  back." 

"  She  is  not  in  England. 

"  But  she  will  come  back  ?  " 

"  No  she  won't  .  .  .  Come  madam,"  he  said  arousing 
himself,  "  I  shall  not  answer  any  more  questions." 

"  Ah — ah — ah — she  is  not  dead,"  the  woman  murmured 
again  |x>utinglv. 

"  She  is,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  don't  think  so,  love." 

*•  She  was  burnt,  I  tell  you  ■  "  he  exclaimed. 

*'  Now  to  please  me,  admit  the  bare  possibility  of  her  being 
alive, — ^just  the  possibility." 

"  O  yes — to  please  you  I  will  admit  that,"  he  said  quickly. 
"  Yes  I  admit  the  ix>ssibility  of  her  being  alive,  to  please 
you." 

She  looked  at  him  in  utter  perplexity.  The  words  could 
only  have  been  said  in  jest,  and  yet  they  seemed  to  savor  of 
a  tone  the  farthest  remove  from  jesting.  There  was  his  face 
plain  to  her  eyes,  but  no  information  of  any  kind  was  to  be 
read  there. 

"  It  is  only  natural  that  I  should  be  curious,"  she  mur- 
mured pettishly,  "  if  I  resemble  her  as  much  as  you  say  I 
do." 

"  You  are  handsomer,"  he  said,  "  though  you  are  about  her 
own  height  and  size.  But  don't  worrj'  yourself.  You  must 
know  that  you  are  body  and  soul  united  with  me,  though  you 
are  but  my  housekeeper." 

She  bridled  a  little  at  the  remark.  "Wife,"  she  said, 
"  njost  certainly  wife,  since  you  cannot  dismiss  me  without 
losing  your  character  and  position,  and  incurring  heavy  j^en- 
alties." 

"  I  own  it — it  was  well  said,  though  mistakenly — very 
mistakenly." 

"  Don't  riddle  to  me  about  mistakenly  and  such  dark 
things.  Now  what  was  your  motive,  dearest — in  running  the 
nsk  of  having  me  here  ?  " 

••Your  beauty,"  he  said. 
13 


338  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

'*  She  thanks  you  much  for  the  comi)Hnient,  but  will  not 
take  it.     Come,  what  was  your  motive  ?  " 

"  Your  wit." 

"No,  no  ;  not  my  wit.  AVit  would  have  made  a  wife  of 
me  by  this  time  instead  of  what  I  am." 

"  Your  virtue." 

"  Or  virtue  either." 

"  I  tell  you  it  was  your  beauty — really." 

"But  1  cannot  help  seeing  and  hearing,  and  if  what  people 
say  is  true,  I  am  not  nearly  so  good-looking  as  Cylherea, 
and  several  years  older." 

The  aspect  of  Manston's  face  at  these  words  from  her 
was  so  comfirmatory  of  her  hint,  that  his  forced  reply  of  "  O 
no,"  tended  to  develop  her  chagrin. 

"  Mere  liking,  or  love  for  me,"  she  resumed,  "  would  not 
have  sprung  up  all  of  a  sudden,  as  your  pretended  passion 
did.  You  had  been  to  London  several  times  between  the 
time  of  the  fire  and  your  marriage  with  Cytherea — you  had 
never  visited  me  or  thought  of  my  existence  or  cared  that  I 
was  out  of  a  situation  and  poor.  But  the  week  after  you 
married  her  and  were  separated  from  her,  off  you  rush  to 
make  love  to  me — not  first  to  me  either,  for  you  went  to 
several  places — " 

"  No,  not  several  places." 

"  Yes,  you  told  me  so  yourself — that  you  went  first  to  the 
only  lodging  in  which  your  wife  had  been  known  as  Mrs. 
Manston,  and  when  you  found  that  the  lodging  house  keeper 
had  gone  away  and  died,  and  that  nobody  else  in  the  street 
had  any  definite  ideas  as  to  your  wife's  personal  appearance, 
you  came  and  proposed  the  arrangement  we  carried  out — 
that  1  should  personate  her.  Your  taking  all  this  trouble 
shows  that  something  more  serious  than  love  had  to  do  with 
the  matter." 

"  Humbug, — what  trouble  after  all  did  I  take  ?  When  1 
found  Cytherea  would  not  stay  with  me  after  the  wedding  I 
was  much  put  out  at  being  left  alone  again.  Was  that  un- 
natural ? 

"  No." 

"  And  those  favoring  accidents  you  mention — that  nobody 
knew  my  first  wife — seemed  an  arrangement  of  I'rovidence 
fcr  our  mutual  benefit,  and  merely  perfected  a  ha'f-formed 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 


339 


imi)u1se — that  I  should  call  you  my  first  wife  to  escape  the 
scandal  that  would  have  arisen  if  you  had  come  here  as  any- 
thing else." 

'*  My  love,  that  story  won't  do.  If  Mrs.  Mansion  was 
burnt,  Cytherea,  whom  you  love  better  than  me — could  have 
been  compelled  to  live  with  you  as  your  lawful  wife. 
If  she  was  not  burnt,  why  should  you  run  the  risk  of  hei 
turning  up  again  at  any  moment  and  exposing  your  substi- 
tution of  me,  and  ruining  your  name  and  prospects  ?  " 

"  Why — because  I  might  have  loved  you  u'ell  enough  to 
run  the  risk  (assuming  her  not  to  be  burnt,  which  I  deny)." 

"  No — you  would  have  run  the  risk  the  other  way.  You 
would  rather  have  risked  her  finding  you  with  Cytherea  as  a 
second  wife,  than  with  me  as  a  personator  of  herself — the 
first  one." 

"  You  came  easiest  to  hand — remember  that." 

"  Not  so  very  easy,  either,  considering  the  labor  you  took 
to  teach  me  your  first  wife's  history.  All  about  how  she 
was  a  native  of  Philadelphia.  Then  making  me  read  up  the 
guide-book  to  Philadelphia,  and  details  of  American  lite  and 
manners,  in  case  the  birth-place  and  history  of  your  wife, 
Eunice,  should  ever  become  known  in  this  neighborhood- - 
unlikely  as  it  was.  Ah  !  and  then  about  the  handwriting  of 
hers  that  I  had  to  imitate,  and  the  dyeing  my  hair,  and 
rouging,  to  make  the  transformation  complete  ?  You  mean 
to  say  that  that  was  taking  less  trouble  than  there  would 
have  been  in  arranging  events  to  make  Cytherea  believe 
herself  your  wife,  and  live  with  you  ?" 

"  You  were  a  needy  adventuress,  who  would  dare  any- 
thing for  a  new  pleasure  and  an  easy  life — and  I  was  fool 
enough  to  give  in  to  you — " 

"Good  Heavens  above! — did  I  ask  you  to  insert  those 
advertisements  for  your  old  wife,  and  to  make  me  answer  it 
as  if  I  was  she  ?  Did  I  ask  you  to  send  me  the  letter  for  me 
to  copy  and  send  back  to  you  when  the  third  advertisement 
ajjpeared — purporting  to  come  from  the  long-lost  wife,  and 
giving  a  detailed  history  of  her  escape  and  subsequent  life 
— all  which  you  had  invented  yourself?  You  deluded  me 
into  loving  you,  and  then  enticed  me  here  !  Ah,  and  this 
is  another  thing.  How  did  you  know  the  real  wife 
wouldn't  answer  it,  and  upset  all  your  plans?" 


340  DESPERATE   REMEDIES. 

"  Because  I  knew  she  was  burnt." 

"  Why  didn't  you  force  Cytherea  to  come  back  then  ? 
Now,  my  love,  I  have  caught  you,  and  you  may  just  as  well 
tell  first  as  last,  what  was  your  motive  in  having  me  here  as 
your  first  wife  V^ 

"  Silence  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

She  wab  silent  for  the  space  of  two  minutes,  and  then  per- 
sisted in  going  on  to  mutter,  "And  why  was  it  that  Miss 
Aldclyffe  allowed  her  favorite  young  lady,  Cythie,  to  be 
overthrown  and  supplanted  without  an  expostulation  or  any 
show  of  sympathy  ?  Do  you  know  I  often  think  you  exer- 
cise a  secret  power  over  Miss  Aldclyffe.  And  she  always 
shuns  me  as  if  1  shared  the  i^ower.  A  poor,  ill-used  creature 
like  me  sharing  power,  indeed." 

"She  thinks  you  are  Mrs.  Manston." 

"  That  wouldn't  make  her  avoid  lae." 

"Yes  it  would,"  he  exclaimed  impatiently.  "I  wish  I 
was  dead — dead  !  "  He  had  jumped  up  from  his  seat  in  ut- 
tering tl.'e  words,  and  now  walked  wearily  to  the  end  of  the 
room.     Coming  back  more  decisively,  he  looked  in  her  face. 

"We  must  leave  this  place  if  Raunham  suspects  what  I 
think  he  does,"  he  said.  "  The  request  of  Cytherea  and  her 
brother  may  simply  be  for  a  satisfactory  proof,  to  make  her 
feel  legally  free — but  it  may  mean  more." 

"  What  may  it  mean  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"Well,  well,  never  mind,  old  boy,"  she  said,  approaching 
him  to  make  up  the  quarrel.  "  Don't  be  so  alarmed — any- 
body would  think  that  you  were  the  woman  and  I  the  man. 
Suppose  they  do  find  out  what  I  am — we  can  go  away  from 
here  and  keej)  house  as  usual.  People  will  say  of  you,  '  His 
first  wife  was  burnt  to  death'  (or  'ran  away  to  the  Colonies, 
as  the  case  may  be),  '  He  married  a  second,  and  deserted 
her  for  Anne  Seaway.'  A  very  everyday  case — nothing  so 
horrible  after  all." 

He  made  an  impatient  movement.  "Whichever  way  we 
do  it,  nobody  must  know  that  you  are  not  my  wife,  Eunice. 
And  now  I  must  think  about  arranging  matters." 

Manston  then  retired  to  his  ofliice,  and  shut  himself  up  for 
the  remainder  of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE   EVENTS  OF  A   DAY   AND   NIGHT. 
§  I.  March  the  twenty -first.     Alorning. 

NEXT  morning  the  steward  went  out  as  usual.  He 
shortly  told  his  companion  Anne,  that  he  had  almost 
matured  their  scheme,  and  that  they  would  enter  upon  the 
details  of  it  when  he  came  home  at  night.  The  fortunate 
fact  that  the  rector's  letter  did  not  require  an  immediate 
answer,  would  give  him  time  to  consider. 

Anne  Seaway  then  began  her  duties  in  the  house.  Be- 
sides daily  superintending  the  cook  and  housemaid,  one  of 
these  duties  was,  at  rare  intervals,  to  dust  Manston's  office 
with  her  own  hands,  a  servant  being  supposed  to  disturb 
the  books  and  papers  unnecessarily. 

She  softly  wandered  from  table  to  shelf  with  the  duster  in 
her  hand,  afterwards  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  glancing  around  to  discover  if  any  noteworthy  collection 
of  dust  had  still  escaped  her. 

Her  eye  fell  upon  a  faint  layer  which  rested  upon  the 
ledge  of  an  old-fashioned  chestnut  cabinet  of  French  Renais- 
sance workmanship,  placed  in  a  recess  by  the  fireplace.  At 
a  height  of  about  four  feet  from  the  floor  the  upper  portion 
of  the  front  receded,  forming  the  ledge  alluded  to,  on  which 
opened  at  each  end,  two  small  doors,  the  centre  space 
between  them  being  filled  out  by  a  panel  of  similar  size, 
making  the  third  of  three  squares. 

The  dust  on  the  ledge  was  nearly  on  a  level  with  the 
woman's  eye,  and  though  insignificant  in  quantity,  showed 
itself  distinctly  on  account  of  this  obliquity  of  vision.  Now 
opposite  the  central  panel,  concentric  quarter-circles  were 
traced  in  the  deposited  film,  expressing  to  her  that  this  panel 
too  was  a  door  like  the  others  ;  that  it  had  lately  been 
opened,  and  had  skimmed  tht;  dust  with  its  lower  edge. 


342 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


At  last,  then,  her  curiosity  was  shghtly  rewarded.  P\)r 
the  right  of  the  matter  was  that  Anne  had  been  incited  to 
this  exploration  of  Manston's  office  rather  by  a  wish  to 
know  the  reason  of  his  long  seclusion  here,  after  the  arrival 
of  the  rector's  letter,  and  their  subsequent  discourse,  than 
by  any  immediate  desire  for  cleanliness. 

Still,  there  would  have  been  nothing  remarkable  to  Anne 
in  this  sight  but  for  one  recollection,  Manston  had  once 
casually  told  her  that  each  of  the  two  side  lockers  included 
half  the  mic'dle  space,  the  panel  of  which  did  not  open, 
and  was  only  j^ut  in  for  symmetry. 

It  was  possible  that  he  had  opened  this  compartment  by 
candlelight  the  preceding  night,  or  he  would  have  seen  the 
marks  in  the  dust,  and  effaced  them,  that  he  might  not  be 
proved  guilty  of  telling  her  an  untruth. 

She  balanced  herself  on  one  foot  and  stood  pondering. 
She  considered  that  it  was  very  vexing  and  unfair  in  him  to 
refuse  her  all  knowledge  of  his  remaining  secrets,  under  the 
peculiar  circumstances  of  her  connection  with  him.  She 
went  close  to  the  cabinet.  As  there  was  no  keyhole,  the 
door  must  be  capable  of  being  opened  by  the  unassisted 
hand. 

The  circles  in  the  dust  told  her  at  which  edge  to  apply 
her  force.  Here  she  pulled  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  but 
the  panel  would  not  come  forward. 

She  fetched  a  chair  and  looked  over  the  top  of  the  cabinet, 
but  no  bolt,  knob,  or  spring  was  to  be  seen. 

"  O,  never  mind,"  she  said  with  indifference;  "I'll  ask 
him  about  it,  and  he  will  tell  me."  Down  she  came  and 
turned  away.  Then  looking  back  again  she  thought  it  was 
absurd  such  a  triHe  should  puzzle  her.  She  retraced  her 
steps,  and  opened  a  drawer  beneath  the  ledge  of  the  cabinet, 
pushing  in  her  hand  and  feeling  about  on  the  under  side 
of  the  board. 

Here  she  found  a  small  round  sinking,  and  pressed  her 
finger  into  it.  Nothing  came  of  the  pressuie.  She  with- 
drew her  hand  and  looked  at  the  ti[)  of  her  finger  :  it  was 
marked  with  the  imi)ress  of  the  circle,  and  in  addition,  a  line 
ran  across  in  diametrically. 

"How  stupid  of  me — it  is  the  head  of  a  screw."  What- 
ever mysterious  contrivance  had  originally  existed  for  open 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


343 


ing  the  puny  cupboard  of  the  cabinet,  it  had  at  some  timt 
been  broken,  and  this  rough  substitute  provided.  Stimu- 
lated curiosity  would  not  allow  her  to  recede  now.  She 
fetched  a  turnscrew,  withdrew  the  screw,  pulled  the  door 
open  with  a  penknife,  and  found  inside  a  cavity  about  ten 
inches  square.     The  cavity  contained  : 

Letters  from  different  women,  with  unknown  signatures, 
Christian  names  only  (surnames  being  despised  in  Paphos). 

Letters  from  his  wife  Eunice. 

Letters  from  Anne  herself,  including  that  she  wrote  in 
answer  to  his  advertisement. 

A  small  pocket-book. 

Sundry  scraps  of  paper. 

The  letters  from  the  strange  women  with  pet  names,  she 
glanced  carelessly  through,  and  then  put  them  aside.  They 
were  too  similar  to  her  own  regretted  delusion,  and  curiosity 
requires  contrast  to  excite  it. 

The  letters  from  his  wife  were  next  examined.  They  were 
dated  back  as  far  as  Eunice's  first  meeting  with  Mansion, 
and  the  early  ones  before  their  marriage  contained  the 
usual  pretty  effusions  of  women  at  such  a  period  of  their  ex- 
istence. Some  little  time  after  he  had  made  her  his  wife, 
and  when  he  had  come  to  Knapwater,  the  series  commenced 
again,  and  now  their  contents  arrested  her  attention  more 
forcibly.  She  closed  the  cabinet,  carried  the  letters  into  the 
parlor,  reclined  herself  on  the  sofa,  and  carefully  perused 
them  in  the  order  of  their  dates. 

"John  Street,  October  I'jih,  1864. 

"  My  dearest  Husband, 

"  I  received  your  hurried  line  of  yesterday, 
and  was  of  course  content  with  it.  But  why  don't  you  tell 
me  your  exact  address  instead  of  that '  Post  Office,  Creston '  ? 
This  matter  is  all  a  mystery  to  me,  and  I  ought  to  be  told 
every  detail.  I  cannot  fancy  it  is  the  same  kind  of  occupa- 
tion you  have  been  used  to  hitherto.  Your  conunand  that 
I  am  to  stay  here  awhile  until  you  can  'see  how  things  look' 
and  can  arrange  to  send  for  me,  I  must  necessarily  abide 
by.  But  if,  as  you  say,  a  married  man  would  have  been  re- 
jected by  the  person  who  engaged  you,  and  that  hence  my 


344  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

existence  must  be  kept  a  secret  until  you  have  secured  your 
position,  why  did  you  think  of  going  at  all? 

"  The  truth  is,  this  keeping  our  marriage  a  secret  is 
troublesome,  vexing,  and  wearisome  to  me.  I  see  the 
poorest  woman  in  the  street  bearing  her  husband's  name 
openly- -living  with  him  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  ease, 
and  why  shouldn't  I  ?  I  wish  I  was  back  again  in  Liver- 
pool. 

"  To-day  I  bought  a  gray  waterproof  cloak.  I  think  it  is 
a  little  too  long  for  me,  but  it  was  cheap  for  one  of  such  a 
quality.  The  weather  is  gusty  and  dreary,  and  till  this 
morning  I  had  hardly  set  foot  outside  the  door  since  you 
left.     Please  do  tell  me  when  I  am  to  come. 

"  Very  affectionately  yours, 
"  Eunice." 

"John  Street,  October  z^th,  1864. 
"My  dear   Husband, 

"Why  don't  you  write?  Do  you  hate  me  ?  I 
have  not  had  the  heart  to  do  anything  this  last  week. 
That  I,  your  wife,  should  be  in  this  strait,  and  my  husband 
well  to  do  !  I  have  been  obliged  to  leave  my  first  lodging 
for  debt — among  other  things  they  charged  me  for  a  lot  of 
brandy  which  I  am  quite  sure  I  did  not  taste.  Then  I  went 
to  Camberwell  and  was  found  out  by  them.  I  went  away 
privately  from  thence,  and  changed  my  name  the  second 
time.  I  am  now  Mrs.  Rondley.  But  the  new  lodging 
was  the  wretchedest  and  dearest  I  ever  set  foot  in,  and  I 
left  it  after  being  there  only  a  day.  I  am  now  at  No.  20 
in  the  same  street  that  you  left  me  in  originally.  All  last 
night  the  sash  of  my  window  rattled  so  dreadfully  that  I 
could  not  sleep,  but  I  had  not  energy  enough  to  get  out  of 
bed  to  stop  it.  This  morning  I  have  been  walking — I 
don't  know  how  far — but  far  enough  to  make  my  feet  ache. 
I  have  been  looking  at  the  outside  of  two  or  three  of  the 
theatres,  but  they  seem  forbidding  if  I  regard  them  with  the 
eye  of  an  actress  in  search  of  an  engagement.  Though  you 
said  I  was  to  think  no  more  of  the  stage,  I  believe  you 
would  not  care  if  you  found  me  there.  But  I  am  not  an 
actress  by  nature,  and  art  will  never  make  me  one.  I  am 
too  timid  and  retiring.     I  was  intended  for  a  cottager's  wife 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


345 


I  certainly  shall  not  try  to  go  on  the  boards  again  whilst  I 
am  in  this  strange  place.  The  idea  of  being  brought  on  as 
far  as  London  and  then  left  here  alone  !  Why  didn't  yon 
leave  me  in  Liverpool  ?  Perhaps  you  thought  I  might 
have  told  somebody  that  my  real  name  was  Mrs.  Manston, . 
As  if  I  had  a  living  friend  to  whom  I  could  impart  it — ^no 
such  good  fortune  !  In  fact  my  nearest  friend  is  no  nearer 
than  what  most  people  would  call  a  stranger.  But  perhaps 
I  ouglit  to  tell  you  that  a  week  before  I  wrote  my  last  letter 
to  you,  after  wishing  that  my  uncle  and  aunt  in  Philadelphia 
(the  only  near  relatives  I  had)  were  still  alive,  I  suddenly 
resolved  to  send  a  line  to  my  cousin  James,  who  I  believe 
is  still  living  in  that  neighborhood.  He  has  never  seen 
me  since  we  were  babies  together.  I  did  not  tell  him  of 
my  marriage,  because  I  thought  you  might  not  like  it,  and 
I  gave  my  real  maiden  name,  and  an  address  at  the  Post- 
office  here.  But  God  knows  if  the  letter  will  ever  reach  him. 
"  Do  write  me  an  answer,  and  send  something. 

"  Your  affectionate  wife 
"  Eunice." 

"  Friday,  October  zZth. 
"  My  dear  Husband, 

"The  order  for  ten  pounds  has  just  come,  and 
I  am  truly  glad  to  get  it.  But  why  will  you  write  so  bit- 
terly ?  Ah — well,  if  I  had  only  had  the  money,  I  should 
have  been  on  my  way  to  America  by  this  time,  so  don't 
think  I  want  to  bore  you  of  my  own  free-will.  Who  can 
you  have  met  with  at  that  new  place  ?  Remember,  I  say 
this  in  no  malignant  tone,  but  certainly  the  facts  go  to  prove 
that  you  have  deserted  me  !  You  are  inconstant — I  know 
it.  O  why  are  you  so  ?  Now  I  have  lost  you,  I  love  you 
in  spite  of  your  neglect.  I  am  weakly  fond — that's  my 
nature.  I  feel  that  upon  the  whole  my  life  has  been  wasted. 
I  know  there  is  another  woman  supplanting  me  in  your 
heart — 3es,  I  know  it.     Come  to  me — do  come. 

"  Eunice." 

"41  Charles  Square,  IIoxton,  November  iqtk. 
"  Dear  ^neas, 

-  ♦*  Here  I  am  back  again  after  my  visit.     Why 
15* 


346  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

should  you  have  been  so  enraged  at  my  finding  your  exact 
address  ?  Any  woman  would  have  tried  to  do  it, — you 
know  she  would  have.  And  no  woman  would  have  lived 
under  assumed  names  so  long  as  I  did.  I  repeat  that  I  did 
not  call  myself  Mrs.  Manston  until  I  came  to  this  lodging 
at  the  beginning  of  this  month — what  could  you  expect  ? 

"  A  helpless  creature  I,  had  not  fortune  favored  me  un- 
expectedly. Banished  as  I  was  from  your  house  at  dawn, 
I  did  not  suppose  the  indignity  was  about  to  lead  to  impor- 
tant results.  But  in  crossing  the  park  I  overheard  the  con- 
versation of  a  young  man  and  woman  who  had  also  risen 
early.  I  believe  her  to  be  the  girl  who  has  won  you  away 
from  me.  Well,  their  conversation  concerned  you  and 
Miss  Aldclyffe',  very  peculiarly.  The  remarkable  thing  is 
that  you  yourself,  without  knowing  it,  told  me  of  what, 
added  to  their  conversation,  completely  reveals  a  secret  to 
me  that  neither  of  you  understand.  Two  negatives  never 
made  such  a  telling  positive  before.  One  clue  more,  and 
you  would  see  it.  A  single  consideration  jjrevents  my  re- 
vealing it  here — just  one  doubt  as  to  whether  your  igno- 
rance was  real,  and  was  not  feigned  to  deceive  me.  Civil- 
ity now,  please. 

"  Eunice." 

"41  Charles  Square, 
"  Tuesday,  November  22d. 

^'  My  darling  Husband, 

"  Monday  will  suit  me  excellently  for  coming.  I 
have  acted  exactly  up  to  your  instructions,  and  have  sold 
my  rubbish  at  theloroker'sin  the  next  street.  All  this  move- 
ment and  bustle  is  delightful  to  me  after  the  weeks  of  mo- 
notony I  have  endured.  It  is  a  relief  to  wish  the  i)lace 
good-by — London  always  has  seemed  so  much  more  foreign 
to  me  than  Liverpool.  The  mid-day  train  on  Monday  will 
do  nicely  for  me.  1  shall  be  anxiously  looking  out  for  you 
Sunday  night. 

'*  1  hope  so  much  that  you  are  not  angry  with  me  for 
writing  to  Miss  Aldclyfte.  You  are  not,  dear,  are  you  ? 
Forgive  me. 

"Your  lovirg  wife, 

"Eunice." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  347 

This  was  the  last  of  the  letters  from  the  wife  to  the  hus- 
band. One  other,  in  Mrs.  xVIanston's  handwriting  and  in  the 
same  packet,  was  differently  addressed. 

"  Three  Tranters  Inn, 

*'Carriford,  near  Froominster, 
**  November  iZth^  1864. 

"Dear  Cousin  James, 

"  Thank  you  indeed  for  answering  my  letter  so  promptly. 
When  I  called  at  the  post-office  yesterday  I  did  not  in  the 
least  think  there  would  be  one.  But  1  must  leave  this  sub- 
ject, i  write  again  at  once,  under  the  strangest  and  saddest 
conditions  it  is  possible  to  conceive. 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  in  my  last  that  I  was  a  married  woman. 
Don't  blame  me — it  was  my  husband's  influence.  I  hardly 
know  where  to  begin  my  story.  1  had  been  living  apart 
from  him  for  a  time — then  he  sent  for  me  (this  was  last  week) 
and  I  was  glad  to  go  to  him.  Then  this  is  what  he  did. 
He  promised  to  fetch  me,  and  did  not — leaving  me  to  do  the 
journey  alone.  He  promised  to  meet  me  at  the  station  here  : 
he  did  not.  1  went  on  through  the  darkness  to  his  house, 
and  found  his  door  locked  and  himself  away  from  home.  I 
have  been  obliged  to  come  here,  and  i  write  to  you  in  a 
strange  room  in  a  strange  village  inn  !  I  choose  the  pres- 
ent moment  to  write  to  drive  away  my  misery.  Sorrow 
seems  a  sort  of  pleasure  when  you  detail  it  on  paper — poor 
pleasure  though. 

*'±5ut  this  is  what  I  want  to  know — and  I  am  ashamed  to 
tell  it.  i  would  gladly  do  as  you  say,  and  come  to  you  as 
a  housekeeper,  but  1  have  not  the  money  even  for  a  steer- 
age passage.  James,  do  you  want  me  badly  enough — do  you 
pity  me  enough  to  send  it  ?  1  could  manage  to  subsist  in 
London  upon  the  proceeds  of  my  sale  for  another  month  or 
six  weeks.  Will  you  send  it  to  the  same  address  at  the  post- 
office  ?    But  how  do  i  know  that  you 

Thus  the  letter  ended.  From  creases  in  the  paper  it  was 
plain  that  the  writer,  having  got  so  far  had  become  dissatisfied 
with  her  production,  and  had  crumpled  it  in  her  hand.  Was 
it  to  write  another,  or  not  to  write  at  all  ? 


348 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


The  next  thing  Anne  Seaway  perceived  was  that  the  frag- 
mentary  story  she  had  coaxed  out  of  Mansion,  to  the  effect 
that  his  wife  had  left  England  for  America,  might  be  truthful, 
according  to  two  of  these  letters,  corroborated  by  the  evi- 
dence of  the  railway  porter. 

And  yet,  at  first,  he  had  sworn  in  a  passion  that  his  wife 
was  most  certainly  consumed  in  the  ire. 

If  she  had  been  burnt,  this  letter,  written  in  her  bedroom, 
and  probably  thrust  into  her  pocket  when  she  relinquished 
it,  would  have  been  burnt  with  her.  Nothing  was  surer  than 
that. 

Why  then  did  he  say  she  was  burnt,  and  never  show  Anne 
herself  this  letter  ? 

The  question  suddenly  raised  a  new  and  much  stranger 
one — kindling  a  burst  of  amazement  in  her.  How  did  Man- 
ston  become  possessed  of  this  letter? 

That  fact  of  ])ossession  was  certainly  the  most  remarka- 
ble revelation  of  all  in  connection  with  this  epistle,  and  per- 
haps had  something  to  do  with  his  reason  for  never  showing 
it  to  her. 

She  knew  by  several  proofs,  that  before  his  marriage  with 
Cytherea,  and  up  to  the  time  of  the  porter's  confession,  Man- 
ston  believed — honestly  believed — that  Cytherea  would  be 
his  lawful  wife,  and  hence  of  course,  that  his  wife  Eunice  was 
dead. 

So  that  no  communication  could  possibly  have  passed  be- 
tween his  wife  and  himself  from  the  first  moment  that  he  be- 
lieved her  dead  on  the  night  of  the  fire,  to  the  day  of  his 
wedding.     And  yet  he  had  that  letter. 

How  soon  afterwards  could  they  have  communicated  with 
each  other  ? 

The  existence  of  the  letter — as  much  as,  or  more  than  its 
contents — implying  that  Mrs.  Manston  was  not  burnt,  his 
belief  in  that  calamity  must  have  terminated  at  the  mo- 
ment he  obtained  possession  of  the  letter,  if  no  earlier. 

Was  then  the  only  solution  to  the  riddle  that  Anne  could 
discern,  the  true  one  ? — that  he  had  communicated  with  his 
wife  somewhere  about  the  commencement  of  Anne's  resi- 
dence with  him,  or  at  any  time  since  ? 

It  was  the  most  unlikely  thing  on  earth  that  a  woman  who 
had  forsaken  her  husband  should  countenance  his  scheme 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


349 


to  personify  her, — whether  she  were  in  America,  in  London, 
or  in  the  neighborhood  of  Knapwater. 

Then  came  the  old  and  harassing  question,  what  was  Man- 
sion's real  motive  in  risking  his  name  on  the  deception  he 
was  practising  as  regarded  Anne.  It  could  not  be,  as  he  had 
always  pretended,  mere  passion.  Her  thoughts  had  reverted 
to  Mr.  Raunham's  letter,  asking  for  proofs  of  her  identity  with 
the  original  Mrs.  Manston.  She  could  see  no  loophole  of 
escape  for  the  man  who  supported  her.  True,  in  her  own 
estiumtion,  the  worst  alternative  was  not  so  very  bad  after  all 
• — the  getting  the  name  of  libertine,  a  possible  appearance  in 
the  Divorce  or  some  other  court  of  law,  and  a  question  of 
damages.  Such  an  exj^osure  might  hmder  his  worldly  prog- 
ress for  some  time.  Yet  to  him  this  alternative  was,  appar- 
ently, terrible  as  death  itself 

She  restored  the  letters  to  their  hiding-place,  scanned 
anew  the  other  letters  and  niemoranda,  from  which  she  could 
gain  no  fresh  information,  fastened  up  the  cabinet,  and  left 
everything  in  its  former  condition. 

Her  mind  was  ill  at  ease.  More  than  ever  she  wished 
that  she  had  never  seen  Manston.  Where  the  person  sus- 
pected of  mysterious  moral  obliquity  is  the  possessor  of  great 
physical  and  intellectual  attractions,  the  mere  sense  of  in- 
congruity adds  an  extra  shudder  to  dread.  The  man's 
strange  bearing  terrified  Anne  as  it  had  terrified  Cytherea ; 
for  with  all  the  woman  Anne's  faults,  she  had  not  de- 
scended to  such  depths  of  depravity  as  to  willingly  partici- 
pate in  crime.  She  had  not  even  known  that  a  living  wife 
was  being  displaced  till  her  arrival  at  Knapwater  put  retreat 
out  of  the  question,  and  had  looked  upon  personation  simply 
as  a  mode  of  subsistence  a  degree  better  than  toihng  in  pov- 
erty and  alone,  after  a  bustling  and  somewhat  pampered  life 
as  housekeeper  in  a  gay  mansion. 

**  — Non  ilia  colo  calathisve  Minervae  ; 

Foemineas  assueta  maiius. "  ■< 


§  2.  Afternoon. 

Mr.  Raunham  and  Edward  Springrove  had  by  this  time 
set  in  motion  a  machinery  which  they  hoped  to  find  working 
out  important  results. 


350 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


The  rector  was  restless  and  full  of  meditation  all  the  fol- 
lowing morning.  It  was  plain,  even  to  the  servants  about 
him,  that  Spriugrove's  communication  wore  a  deeper  com- 
plexion than  any  that  had  been  made  to  the  old  magistrate 
formally  months  or  years  past.  The  fact  was  that  having  ar- 
rived at  the  stage  of  existence  in  which  the  difficult  intellect- 
ual fear  of  suspending  one's  judgment  becomes  possible,  lie 
was  now  putting  it  in  practice,  though  not  without  the  pen- 
alty of  watchful  effort. 

It  was  not  till  the  afternoon  that  he  determined  to  call  on 
his  relative.  Miss  Aldclyflfe,  and  cautiously  probe  her  knowl- 
edge of  the  subject  occupying  him  so  thoroughly.  Cytherea, 
he  knew,  was  still  beloved  by  this  solitary  woman.  Miss 
Aldclyffe  had  made  several  private  inquiries  concerning  her 
old  companion,  and  there  was  ever  a  sadness  in  her  tone 
when  the  young  lady's  name  was  mentioned,  which  showed 
that  from  whatever  cause  the  elder  Cytherea' s  renunciation 
of  her  favorite  and  namesake  proceeded,  it  was  not  from 
indifference  to  her  fate. 

"Have  you  ever  had  any  reason  for  supposing  your  stew- 
ard anyriiing  but  an  upright  man  ?  "  he  said  to  the  lady. 

"  Never  the  slightest.     Have  you  ?"  said  she  reservedly. 

"  Well— I  have." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  can  say  nothing  plainly  because  nothing  is  proved. 
But  my  suspicions  are  very  strong." 

"Do  you  mean  that  he  was  rather  cool  towards  his  wife 
when  they  were  first  married,  and  that  it  was  unfair  in  him 
to  leave  her  ?  I  know  he  was  ;  but  I  think  his  recent  conduct 
towards  her  has  amply  atoned  for  the  neglect." 

He  looked  Miss  Aldclyffe  full  in  the  face.  It  was  plain 
that  she  spoke  honestly.  She  had  not  the  slightest  notion 
that  the  woman  who  lived  with  the  steward  might  be  other 
than  Mrs.  Manston — much  less  that  a  greater  matter  might 
be  beliind. 

"  That's  not  it — I  wish  it  was  no  more.  My  suspicion  is, 
first,  that  the  woman  living  at  the  Old  House  is  not  .Mr. 
Mariston's  wife." 

"  Not — Mr.  Manston's  wife  ?  " 

"  That  is  it." 


DESPERATE  REMj\:)IES. 


351 


Miss  Aldclyffe  looked  blankly  at  the  rector.       "Not  Mr. 
Manston's  wife ;— who  else  can  she  be  ?  "  she  said,  simply. 
"  An  improper  woman  of  the  name  of  Anne  Seaway." 

Mr.  Raunham  had,  in  common  with  other  jjeople,  noticed 
the  extraordinary  interest  of  Miss  Aldclyffe  in  the  well-being 
of  her. steward,  and  had  endeavored  to  account  for  it  in  vari- 
ous ways.  The  extent  to  which  she  was  shaken  by  his  in- 
formation, whilst  it  proved  that  the  understanding  between 
herself  and  Manston  did  not  make  her  a  sharer  of  his  secrets, 
also  showed  that  the  tie  which  bound  her  to  him  was  still 
unbroken.  Mr.  Raunham  had  lately  begun  to  doubt  the  lat- 
ter fact,  and  now,  on  finding  himself  mistaken,  regretted  that 
he  had  not  kept  his  own  counsel  in  the  matter.  This  it  was  too 
late  to  do,  and  he  pushed  on  with  his  proofs.  He  gave 
Miss  Aldclyffe  in  detail  the  grounds  of  his  belief. 

Before  he  had  done,  she  recovered  the  cloak  of  reserve 
that  she  had  adopted  on  his  opening  the  subject. 

"  1  might  possibly  be  convinced  that  you  were  in  the  right, 
after  such  an  elaborate  argument,"  she  replied,  "  were  it  not 
for  one  fact,  which  bears  in  the  contrary  direction  so  point' 
edly,  that  nothing  but  absolute  proof  can  turn  it.  It  is 
that  there  is  no  conceivable  motive  which  could  induce  any 
sane  man — leaving  alone  a  man  of  Mr.  Manston's  clearhead- 
edness and  integrity — to  venture  upon  such  an  extraordinary 
course  of  conduct ; — no  motive  on  earth." 

"  That  was  my  own  opinion  till  after  the  visit  of  a  friend 
list  night — a  friend  of  mine  and  poor  little  Cytherea's." 

'•  Ah — and  Cytherea,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  catching  at  the 
idea  raised  by  the  name.  "  That  he  loved  Cytherea — yes,  and 
loves  her  now,  wildly  and  devotedly,  I  am  as  positive  as  that  I 
breathe.  Cytherea  is  years  younger  than  Mrs.  Manston — as  I 
shall  call  her — twice  as  sweet  in  disposition,  three  times  as  beau- 
tiful. Would  he  have  given  heru;)  quietly  and  suddenly  for  a 
woman  of  tiie  town.  Mr.  Raunham,  your  story  is  monstrous, 
and  I  don't  believe  it ! "     She  glowed  in  her  earnestness. 

The  rector  might  now  have  advanced  his  second  proposition 
— the  i)Ossible  motive — but  for  reasons  of  his  own  he  did  not. 

"  Very  well,  madam.  I  only  hope  that  facts  will  sustain 
you  in  your  belief.  Ask  him  the  question  to  his  face, 
whether  the  woman  is  his  wife  or  no,  and  see  how  he  re» 
ceives  it." 


352  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  I  will  to-morrow,  most  certainly,"  she  said.  "  I  always 
let  these  things  die  of  wholesome  ventilatioii,  as  every  fungus 
does." 

But  no  sooner  had  the  rector  left  her  presence,  than  the 
grain  of  mustard-seed  he  had  sown  grew  to  a  tree.  Her  im- 
patience to  set  her  mind  at  rest  could  not  brook  a  night's 
delay.  It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  she  could 
wait  till  evening  arrived  to  screen  her  movements.  Im- 
mediately the  sun  had  dropped  behind  the  horizon,  and  be- 
fore it  was  quite  dark,  she  wrapped  her  cloak  around  her, 
softly  left  the  house,  and  walked  erect  through  the  gloomy 
park  in  the  direction  of  the  old  manor-house. 

The  same  minute  saw  two  persons  sit  down  in  the  rectory- 
house  to  share  the  rector's  usually  solitary  dinner.  One 
was  a  man  of  commonplace,  middle-class  ai)pearance  in  all 
except  his  eyes.     The  other  was  Edward  S[)ringrove. 

The  discovery  of  the  carefully  concealed  letters  rankled 
in  the  mind  of  Anne  Seaway.  Her  woman's  nature  insisted 
that  Manston  had  no  right  to  keep  all  matters  connected 
with  his  lost  wife  a  secret  from  herself  Perplexity  had 
bred  vexation  :  vexation,  resentment ;  curiosity  had  been 
continuous.  The  whole  morning  this  resentment  and  curi- 
osity increased. 

The  steward  said  very  little  to  his  companion  during  their 
luncheon  at  mid-day.  He  seemed  reckless  of  appearances 
— almost  indifferent  to  whatever  fate  awaited  him.  All  his 
actions  betrayed  that  something  portentous  was  impending, 
and  still  he  explained  nothing.  By  carefully  observing  every 
trifling  action,  as  only  a  woman  can  observe  them,  the 
thought  at  length  dawned  upon  her  that  he  was  going  to  run 
away  secretly.  She  feared  for  herself;  her  knowledge  of  law 
and  justice  was  vague,  and  she  fancied  she  might  in  some 
way  be  made  responsible  for  him. 

In  the  afternoon  he  went  out  of  the  house  again,  and  she 
watched  him  turn  away  in  the  direction  of  Froominster. 
She  felt  a  desire  to  go  to  Froominster  herself,  and,  after  an 
interval  of  half  an  hour,  followed  him  on  foot — ostensibly  to 
do  some  shopping. 

One  among  hei"  several  trivial  errands  was  to  make  a  small 
purchase  at  the  druggist's.     Opposite   the  druggist's  stood 


DESPLRATE  REMEDIES. 


353 


the  County  Bank.  Looking  out  of  the  shop  wincloiv,  be- 
tween the  colored  bottles,  she  saw  Manston  come  down  the 
steps  of  the  bank,  in  the  act  ot  withdrawing  his  hand  from 
his  pocket,  and  pulling  his  coat  close  over  his  mouth. 

It  is  an  almost  universal  habit  with  people  when  leaving 
a  bank,  to  be  carefully  adjusting  their  pockets  if  they  have 
been  receiving  money  ;  if  they  have  been  paying  it,  their 
hands  swing  laxly. 

The  steward  had  in  all  likelihood  been  taking  money — 
possibly  on  Miss  Aldclyffe's  account — that  was  continual 
with  him.  And  he  might  have  been  removing  his  own,  as  a 
man  would  do  who  was  intending  to  leave  the  country. 


§  3.  From  five  to  eight  d dock  p.  m. 

Anne  reached  home  again  in  time  to  preside  over  prepa- 
rations for  dinner.  Manston  came  in  half  an  hour  later. 
The  lamp  was  lighted,  the  shutters  were  closed,  and  they  sat 
down  together.     He  was  pale  and  worn — almost  haggard. 

The  meal  passed  off  in  almost  unbroken  silence.  When 
])reoccupation  withstands  the  influence  of  a  social  meal 
with  one  pleasant  companion,  the  mental  scene  must  be 
surpassingly  vivid.  Just  as  she  was  rising  a  tap  came  to  the 
door. 

Before  a  maid  could  attend  to  the  knock,  Manston  crossed 
the  room  and  answered  it  himself.  The  visitor  was  Miss 
Aldclyffe. 

Manston  instantly  came  back  and  si)oke  to  Anne  in  an 
undertone.  "  1  should  be  glad  if  you  could  retire  to  your 
room  for  a  short  time." 

"  It  is  a  dry,  starlight  evening,"  she  replied.  "  I  will  go 
for  a  little  walk,  if  your  object  is  merely  a  private  conversa- 
tion with  Miss  Aldclyffe." 

"  Very  well,  do  ;  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes,"  he  said. 
A  few  connnonplaces  then  passed  between  her  and  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  and  Anne  went  upstairs  to  bonnet  and  cloak  her- 
self.    She  came  down,  opened  the  front  door,  and  went  out. 

She  looked  around  to  realize  the  night.  It  was  dark, 
mournful,  and  quiet.  Then  she  stood  still.  From  the  mo- 
uiei  t  that  Manston  had  requested  her  absence,  a  strong  and 


354 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


burning  desire  had  prevailed  in  her  to  know  the  subject  of 
Miss  Aldclyffe's  conversation  with  him.  Simple  curiosity 
was  not  entirely  what  inspired  her.  Her  suspicions  had 
been  thoroughly  aroused  by  the  discovery  of  the  morning. 
A  conviction  that  her  future  depended  on  her  power  to 
combat  a  man  who,  in  desperate  circumstances,  would  be 
far  from  a  friend  to  her,  prompted  a  strategic  movement  to 
acquire  the  important  secret  that  was  in  handling  now. 
The  woman  thought  and  thought,  and  regarded  the  dull  dark 
trees,  anxiously  debating  how  the  thing  could  be  done. 

Stealthily  reopening  the  front  door  she  entered  the  hall, 
and  advancing  and  pausing  alternately,  came  close  to  the 
door  of  the  room  in  which  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  Manston  con- 
versed. Nothing  could  be  heard  through  the  keyhole  or 
panels.  At  a  great  risk  she  softly  turned  the  knob  and 
opened  the  door  to  a  width  of  about  half  an  inch,  perform- 
ing the  act  so  delicately  that  three  minutes,  at  least,  were 
occupied  in  completing  it.  At  that  instant  Miss  Aldclyffe 
said, — 

"  There's  a  draught  somewhere.  The  door  is  ajar,  I 
think." 

Anne  glided  back  under  the  staircase.  Manston  came 
forward  and  closed  the  door. 

This  chance  was  now  cut  off,  and  she  consiiered  again. 

The  parlor  or  sitting-room,  in  which  the  conference  took 
place,  had  the  window-shutters  fixed  on  the  outside  of  the 
window,  as  is  usual  in  the  back  portions  of  old  country- 
houses.  The  shutters  were  hinged  one  on  each  side  of  the 
opening,  and  met  in  the  middle,  where  they  were  fastened 
by  a  bolt  passing  continuously  through  them  and  the  wood 
mullion  within,  the  bolt  being  secured  on  the  inside  by  a 
pin,  which  was  seldom  inserted  till  Manston  and  herself 
were  about  to  retire  for  the  night ;  sometimes  not  at  all. 

If  she  returned  to  the  door  of  the  room  she  might  be  dis- 
covered at  any  moment,  but  could  she  listen  at  the  window, 
which  overlooked  a  part  of  the  garden  never  visited  after 
•.lightfall,  she  would  be  safe  from  disturbance.  The  idea  was 
worth  a  trial. 

She  glided  round  to  the  window,  took  the  head  of  the 
bolt  between  her  finger  and  thumb,  and  softly  screwed  it 
round  until  it  was  entirely  withdrawn  from  its  position.    The 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES,  355 

shutters  remained  as  before,  \i  hilst,  where  the  bolt  had  come 
out,  was  now  a  shining  hole  three-quarters  of  an  inch  in 
diameter,  through  which  one  might  see  into  the  middle  of 
the  room.     She  applied  her  eye  to  the  oritice. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  and  Manston  were  both  standing;  Man- 
ston  with  his  back  to  the  window,  his  companion  facing  it. 
The  lady's  demeanor  was  severe,  condemnator)',  and 
haughty.  No  more  was  to  be  seen  ;  Anne  then  turned  side- 
ways, leant  with  her  shoulder  against  the  shutters  and  placed 
her  ear  upon  the  hole. 

"  You  know  where,"  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  "  And  how 
could  you,  a  man,  act  a  double  deceit  like  this  ?  " 

"  Men  do  strange  things  sometimes." 

"  What  was  your  reason — come  ?  " 

"  A  mere  whim." 

"  I  might  even  believe  that,  if  the  woman  were  handsomer 
than  Cytherea,  or  if  you  had  been  married  some  time  to 
Cytherea  and  had  grown  tired  of  her." 

"And  can't  you  believe  it,  too,  under  these  conditions: 
that  I  married  Cytherea,  gave  her  up  because  I  heard  that 
my  wife  was  alive,  found  that  my  wife  would  not  come  to 
live  with  me,  and  then,  not  to  let  any  woman  I  love  so  well 
as  Cytherea  run  any  risk  of  being  displaced  and  ruined  in 
reputation,  should  my  wife  ever  think  lit  to  return,  induced 
this  woman  to  come  to  me,  as  being  better  than  no  compan- 
ion at  all  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  believe  it.  Your  love  for  Cytherea  was  not  of 
such  a  kind  as  that  excuse  would  imply.  It  was  Cytherea 
or  nobody  with  you.  As  an  object  of  passion,  you  did  not 
desire  the  company  of  this  Anne  Seaway  at  all,  and  certainly 
not  so  much  as  to  madly  risk  your  reputation  by  bringing 
her  here  in  the  way  you  have  done.  I  am  sure  you  didn't, 
^neas." 

"  So  am  I,"  he  said,  bluntly. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment : 
the  confession  was  like  a  blow  in  its  suddenness.  She  be- 
gan to  reproach  him  bitterly,  and  with  tears. 

"  How  could  you  overthrow  my  plans,  disgrace  the  only 
girl  1  ever  had  any  respect  for,  by  such  inexplicable  doings  ! 
....  That  woman  must  leave  this  place — the  country, 
perhaps.     H'iavens  !  the  truth  will  leak  out  in  a  day  or  two  1 " 


356  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  She  must  do  no  such  thing,  and  the  truth  must  be 
stifled,  somehow — nobody  knows  how.  If  I  stay  here,  or  on 
any  spot  of  the  civiHzed  globe,  as  ^neas  Mansion,  this 
woman  must  live  with  me  as  my  wife,  or  I  am  damned  past 
redemption  !  " 

"  1  will  not  countenance  your  keeping  her,  whatever  your 
motive  may  be." 

"  You  must  do  something,"  he  murmured.  "You  must. 
Yes,  you  must." 

"  I  never  will,"  she  said.     "  'Tis  a  criminal  act." 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly.  "  Will  you  not  support  me 
through  this  deception  if  my  very  life  depends  upon  it  ? 
Will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Nonsense  !  Life  !  It  will  be  a  scandal  to  you,  but  she 
must  leave  this  place.  It  will  out  sooner  or  later,  and  the 
e.xposure  had  better  come  now." 

Manston  repeated  gloomily  the  same  words.  "  My  life 
depends  upon  your  supporting  me — my  very  life." 

He  then  came  close  to  her,  and  spoke  into  her  ear. 
Whilst  he  spoke  he  held  her  head  to  his  mouth  with  both  his 
hands.  Strange  expressions  came  over  her  face  ;  the  work- 
ings of  her  mouth  were  painful  to  observe.  Still  he  held 
her  and  whispered  on. 

The  only  words  that  could  be  caught  by  Anne  Seaway, 
confused  as  her  hearing  frequently  was  by  the  moan  of  the 
wind  and  the  waterfall  in  her  outer  ear,  were  these  of  Miss 
Aldclyfife,  in  tones  which  absolutely  quivered  : — 

"They  have  no  money — what  can  they  prove?" 

The  listener  tasked  herself  to  the  utmost  to  catch  his  an- 
swer, but  it  was  in  vain.  Of  the  remainder  of  the  colloquy 
one  fact  alone  was  plain  to  Anne,  and  that  only  inductively — 
that  Miss  .\ldclyfife,  from  what  he  had  revealed  to  her,  was 
going  to  scheme  body  and  soul  on  Mansion's  behalf. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  seemed  now  to  have  no  further  reason  for 
remaining,  yet  she  lingered  awhile  as  if  loth  to  leave  him. 
When,  finally,  the  crestfallen  and  agitated  lady  made  prepa- 
rations for  departure,  Anne  quickly  inserted  the  bolt,  raft 
round  to  the  entrance  archway,  and  down  the  stej^s  into  the 
park.  Here  she  stood  close  to  ihe  trunk  of  a  huge  lime-tree, 
which  absorbed  her  dark  outline  into  its  own. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


357 


In  a  few  minutes  she  saw  Manston,  with  Miss  AldclyfFe 
leaning  on  his  arm,  cross  the  glade  before  her  and  proceed 
in  the  direction  of  the  House.  She  watched  them  ascend 
the  rise  and  advance,  as  two  black  spots,  towards  the  man- 
sion. The  appearance  of  an  oblong  space  of  light  in  the 
dark  mass  of  walls  denoted  that  the  door  was  opened.  Mist» 
Aldclyfife's  outline  became  visible  upon  it,  the  door  shut  hei 
in,  and  all  was  darkness  again.  The  form  of  Manston  re- 
turning alone  arose  from  the  gloom,  and  passed  by  Anne  in 
her  hiding-])lace. 

Waiting  outside  a  quarter  of  an  hour  longer,  that  no  sus 
picion  of  any  kind  might  be  excited,  Anne  returned  to  the 
old  manor-house. 


§  4.  From  eight  to  eleven  d clock  p.  rn. 

Manston  was  very  friendly  that  evening.  It  was  evident 
to  her,  now  that  she  was  behind  the  scenes,  that  he  w?s 
making  desperate  efforts  to  disguise  the  real  state  of  his 
mind. 

Her  terror  of  him  did  not  decrease.  They  sat  down  to 
supper,  Manston  still  talking  cheerfully.  But  what  is  keener 
than  the  eye  of  a  mistrustful  woman  ?  A  man's  cunning  is 
to  it  as  was  the  armor  of  Sisera  to  the  thin  tent-nail.  She 
found,  in  si)ite  of  his  adroitness,  that  he  was  attempting 
something  more  than  a  disguise  of  his  feeling.  He  was  try- 
ing to  distract  her  attention,  that  he  might  be  unobserved 
in  some  special  movement  of  his  hands. 

What  a  moment  it  v»'as  for  her  then  !  The  whole  surface 
of  her  body  became  attentive.  She  allowed  him  no  chance 
whatever.  We  know  the  duplicated  condition  at  such  times 
— when  the  existence  divides  itself  in  two,  and  the  ostensi- 
bly innocent  chatterer  stands  in  front,  like  another  person, 
to  hide  the  timorous  spy. 

Manston  played  the  same  game,  but  more  palpably.  The 
meal  was  nearly  over  when  he  seemed  possessed  of  a  new 
idea  of  how  his  object  might  be  accomplished.  He  tilted 
back  his  chair  with  a  reflective  air,  and  looked  steadily  at 
the  clock  standing  against  the  wall  opposite  him.  He  said 
didactically. 


358 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


"  Few  faces  are  capable  of  expressing  more  by  dumb 
show  than  the  face  of  a  clock.  You  may  see  in  it  every 
variety  of  incentive — from  the  softest  seductions  to  negli- 
gence to  the  strongest  hints  for  action." 

"  Weil,  in  what  way  ?  "  she  inquired.  His  drift  was,  as 
yet,  quite  unintelligible  to  her. 

"  Why,  for  instance  :  look  at  the  cold  methodical,  unro- 
mantic,  business-like  air  of  all  the  right-angled  positions  of 
the  hands.  They  make  a  man  set  about  work  in  spite  of 
himself.  Then  look  at  the  i)iquant  shyness  of  its  face  when 
the  two  hands  are  over  each  other.  Several  attitudes  imply 
*  make  ready.'  The  '  make  ready'  of  ten  minutes  to  twelve 
differs  from  the  'make  ready'  of  ten  minutes  to  one,  as 
youth  differs  from  age.  '  Upward  and  onward,'  says  twenty- 
five  minutes  to  eleven.  Mid-day  or  midnight  expresses  dis- 
tinctly 'It  is  done.'     You  surely  have  noticed  that  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  have." 

He  continued  with  affected  quaintness. — 

"  The  easy  dash  of  ten  minutes  past  seven,  the  rakish 
recklessness  of  a  quarter  past,  the  drooping  weariness  of 
twenty-live  minutes  past,  must  have  been  observed  by  every- 
body." 

"  Whatever  amount  of  truth  there  maybe,  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  imagination  in  your  fancy,"  she  said. 

He  still  contemplated  the  clock. 

"Then  again  the  general  finish  of  the  face  has  a  great  ef- 
fect upon  the  eye.  This  old-fashioned  brass-faced  one  we 
have  here,  with  its  arched  top,  half-moon  slit  for  the  day  of 
the  month,  and  ship  rocking  at  the  upper  part,  impresses 
me  with  the  notion  of  its  being  an  old  cynic,  elevating  his 
brows,  whose  thoughts  can  be  seen  wavering  between  good 
and  evil." 

A  thought  now  enlightened  her ;  the  clock  was  behind 
her  and  he  wanted  to  get  her  back  turned.  She  dreaded 
turning,  yet,  not  to  excite  his  suspicion  that  she  was  on  her 
guard,  she  quickly  looked  behind  her  at  the  clock  as  he 
spoke,  recovering  her  old  jwsition  again  instantly.  The 
time  had  not  been  long  enough  for  any  action  whatever  on 
his  ijart. 

"  Ah,"  he  casually  remarked,  and  at  the  same  minute  be- 
gan to  pour  iier  out  a  glass   of  wine.     "  Speaking  of  the 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


359 


clock  has  reminded  me  that  it  must  nearly  want  winding  up. 
Remember  that  it  is  wound  up  to-night.  Suppose  you  do  it 
at  once,  my  dear." 

There  was  no  possible  way  of  evading  the  act.  She  reso 
lately  turned  to  perform  the  operation  ;  anything  was  bettei 
than  that  he  should  suspect  her.  It  was  an  old-fashioned 
eight-day  clock,  of  workmanship  suited  to  the  rest  of  the 
antique  furniture  that  Manston  had  collected  there,  and 
ground  heavily  during  winding. 

Anne  had  given  up  all  idea  of  being  able  to  watch  him 
during  the  interval,  and  the  noise  of  the  wheels  prevented 
her  learning  anything  by  her  ears.  But,  as  she  wound,  she 
caught  sight  of  his  shadow  on  the  wall  at  her  right  hand. 

What  was  he  doing  ? 

He  was  in  the  very  act  of  pouring  something  into  her 
glass  of  wine. 

He  had  completed  the  manoeuvre  before  she  had  done 
winding.  She  methodically  closed  the  clock-case  and  turned 
round  again.  When  she  faced  him  he  was  sitting  in  his 
chair  as  before  she  had  risen. 

In  a  familiar  scene  which  has  hitherto  been  pleasant,  it  is 
difficult  to  realize  that  an  added  condition,  which  does  not 
alter  its  aspect,  can  have  made  it  terrible.  The  woman 
thought  that  his  action  must  have  been  prompted  by  no 
other  intent  than  that  of  poisoning  her,  and  yet  she  could 
not  instantly  put  on  a  fear  of  her  position. 

And  before  she  had  grasped  these  consequences,  another 
supposition  served  to  make  her  regard  the  first  as  unlikely, 
if  not  absurd.  It  was  the  act  of  a  madman  to  take  her  life 
in  a  manner  so  easy  of  discovery,  unless  there  were  far  more 
reason  for  the  crime  than  any  that  Manston  could  possibly 
have. 

Was  it  not  merely  his  intention,  in  tampering  with  her 
wine,  to  make  her  sleep  soundly  that  night  ?  This  was  in 
harmony  with  her  original  suspicion,  that  he  intended  se- 
cretly to  abscond.  At  any  rate  he  was  going  to  set  about 
some  stealthy  proceeding,  as  to  which  she  was  to  be  kept  in 
utter  darkness.  The  difficulty  now  was  to  avoid  drinking 
the  wine. 

By  means  of  one  pretext  and  another  she  put  off  taking 
her  glass  for  nearly  five  minutes,  but  he  eyed  her  too  fre- 


3<5o 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


quently  to  allow  her  to  throw  the  potion  under  the  grate. 
It  became  necessary  to  take  one  sip.  This  she  did,  and 
found  an  opportunity  of  absorbing  it  in  her  handkerchief 

Plainly  he  had  no  idea  of  her  counternioves.  The  scheme 
seemed  to  him  in  proper  train,  and  he  turned  to  poke  out 
the  tire.  She  instantly  seized  the  glass  and  poured  its  con 
tents  down  her  bosom.  When  he  faced  round  again  she 
was  holding  the  glass  to  her  lips,  empty. 

In  due  course  he  locked  the  doors  and  saw  that  the  shut- 
ters were  fastened.  She  attended  to  a  few  closing  details  of 
housewifery,  and  a  {it^  minutes  later  they  retired  for  the 
night. 


§  5.  From  eleven  d clock  to  midnigM. 

When  Mansion  was  persuaded,  by  the  feigned  heaviness 
of  her  breathing,  that  Anne  Seaway  was  aslee;),  he  softly 
arose,  and  dressed  himself  in  the  gloom. 

With  ears  strained  to  their  utmost  she  heard  him  com- 
plete this  operation  ;  then  he  took  something  from  his 
pocket,  put  it  in  the  drawer  of  the  dressing-table,  went  to 
the  door  and  down  the  stairs.  She  glided  out  of  bed  and 
looked  in  the  drawer.  He  had  only  restored  to  its  place  a 
small  phial  she  had  seen  there  before.  It  was  labelled 
"  Battley's  Solution  of  Opium."  She  felt  relieved  that  her 
life  had  not  been  attempted.  That  was  to  have  been  her 
sleeping-draught. 

No  time  was  to  be  lost  if  she  meant  to  be  a  match  for 
him.  She  followed  him  in  her  night-dress.  When  she 
reached  the  foot  of  the  staircase  he  was  in  the  office  and 
had  closed  the  door,  under  which  a  faint  gleam  showed  that 
he  had  obtained  a  light. 

She  crept  to  the  door,  but  could  not  venture  to  open  it, 
however  slightly.  Placing  her  ear  to  the  ]:)anel,  she  could 
hear  him  tearing  up  papers  of  some  sort,  and  a  brighter  and 
quivering  ray  of  light  coming  from  the  threshold  an  instant 
later,  implied  that  he  was  burning  them.  By  the  slight  noise 
of  his  footsteps  on  the  uncarpeted  tloor,  she  at  length  imag- 
ined that  he  was  approaching  the  door.  She  flitted  upstairs 
again  and  crept  into  bed. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  36 1 

Manston  returned  to  the  bedroom  close  upon  her  heels, 
and  entered  it — agaui  without  a  hght.  Standing  motionless 
for  an  instant  to  assure  himself  that  she  still  slept,  he  went 
to  the  drawer  in  which  their  ready-money  was  kept,  and  re- 
moved the  casket  that  contained  it.  Anne's  ear  distinctly 
caught  the  rustle  of  notes,  and  the  chink  of  gold  as  he 
handled  it.  Some  he  placed  in  his  pocket,  some  he  returned 
to  its  place. 

He  stood  thinking,  as  it  were  weighing  a  possibility. 
While  lingering  thus,  he  noticed  the  reflected  image  of  his 
own  face  in  the  glass — pale  and  spectre-like  in  its  indistinct- 
ness. The  sight  seemed  to  be  the  feather  which  turned  the 
balance  of  indecision  :  he  drew  a  heavy  breath,  retired  from 
the  room,  and  passed  downstairs.  She  heard  him  imbar  the 
back-door  and  go  out  into  the  yard. 

Feeling  safe  in  a  conclusion  that  he  did  not  intend  to  re- 
turn to  the  bedroom  again,  she  arose,  and  hastily  dressed 
herself.  On  going  to  the  door  of  the  apartment  she  found 
that  he  had  locked  it  behind  him.  "  A  precaution — it  can 
be  no  more,"  she  muttered.  Yet  she  was  all  the  more  ]Der- 
plexed  and  excited  on  this  account.  Had  he  been  going  to 
leave  home  immediately,  he  would  scarcely  have  taken  the 
trouble  to  lock  her  in,  holding  the  belief  that  she  was  in  a 
drugged  sleep. 

The  lock  shot  into  a  box-staple,  so  that  there  was  no  pos- 
sibility of  her  pushing  back  the  bolt.  How  should  she  follow 
him  ?     Easily. 

An  inner  closet  opened  from  the  bedroom  :  it  was  large, 
and  had  some  time  heretofore  been  used  as  a  dressing  or 
bath-room,  but  had  been  found  inconvenient  from  having  no 
other  ouilet  to  the  landing.  The  window  of  this  little  room 
looked  out  upon  the  roof  of  the  porch,  which  was  flat  and 
covered  with  lead.  Anne  took  a  pillow  from  the  bed,  gently 
opened  the  casement  of  the  inner  room,  and  stepped  forth 
on  the  flat.  There,  leaning  over  the  edge  of  the  small  par- 
apet that  ornamented  the  porch,  she  dro|)ped  the  pillow 
upon  the  gravel  path,  and  let  herself  down  over  the  parapet 
by  her  hands  till  her  toes  swung  about  two  feet  from  the 
ground.  From  this  position  she  adroitly  alighted  upon  the 
pillow,  and  stood  in  the  path. 

Sioc£  she  had  come  indoors  from  her  walk  in  the  early 


362  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

part  of  the  evening  the  moon  had  risen.  But  the  thick 
clouds  overspreading  the  whole  landscape  rendered  the  dim 
light  pervasive  and  gray :  it  appeared  as  an  attribute  of  the 
air. 

Anne  crept  round  to  the  back  of  the  house,  listening  in- 
tently. The  steward  had  had  at  least  ten  minutes  start  of 
her.  She  had  waited  here  whilst  one  might  count  fifty,  when 
she  heard  a  movement  in  the  outhouse — a  fragment  once  at- 
taciied  to  the  main  building.  This  outhouse  was  partitioned 
into  an  outer  and  an  inner  room,  which  had  been  a  kitchen 
and  a  scullery  before  the  connecting  erections  were  pulled 
down,  but  they  were  now  used  respectively  as  a  brewliouse 
and  workshop,  the  only  means  of  access  to  the  latter  being 
through  the  brewhouse.  The  outer  door  of  this  first  ai)art- 
ment  was  usually  fastened  by  a  padlock  on  the  exterior.  It 
was  now  closed  but  not  fastened.  Mansion  was  evidently 
in  the  outhouse. 

She  slightly  moved  the  door.  The  interior  of  the  brew- 
house  was  wrapped  in  gloom,  but  a  streak  of  light  fell  to- 
wards her  in  a  line  across  the  floor  from  the  inner  or  work- 
shop door,  which  was  not  quite  closed.  This  light  was  un- 
expected, none  having  been  visible  through  hole  or  crev- 
ice. Glancing  in,  the  woman  found  that  he  had  placed 
cloths  and  mats  at  the  various  apertures,  and  hung  a  sack 
at  the  window  to  prevent  the  egress  of  a  single  ray.  She 
could  also  perceive  from  where  she  stood,  that  the  bar  of 
light  fell  across  the  brewing-copper  just  outside  the  inner 
door,  and  that  upon  it  lay  the  key  of  her  bedroom. 

The  illuminated  interior  of  the  workshop  was  also  partly 
visible  from  her  position,  through  the  two  half-open  doors. 
Manston  was  engaged  in  emptying  a  large  cupboard  of  the 
tools,  gallipots,  and  old  iron  it  contained.  When  it  was  quite 
cleared  he  took  a  chisel,  and  with  it  began  to  withdraw  the 
hooks  and  shoulder-nails  holding  the  cupboard  to  the  wall. 
All  these  being  loosened,  he  extended  his  arms,  lifted  the 
cupboard  bodily  from  the  brackets  under  it,  and  deposited  it 
on  the  floor  beside  him. 

That  portion  of  the  wall  which  had  been  screened  by  the 
cupboard  was  now  laid  bare.  This,  it  aj^peared,  had  been 
plastered  more  recently  than  the  bulk  of  the  outhouse. 
Manston  loosened  the  planter  with  some  kind  of  tool,  fling* 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  363 

ing  the  pieces  into  a  basket  as  they  fell.  Having  now 
stripped  clear  about  two  feet  area  of  wall,  he  inserted  a 
crowbar  between  the  joints  of  the  bricks  beneath,  softly  wrig- 
gling it  until  several  were  loosened.  There  was  now  dis- 
closed the  mouth  of  an  old  oven,  which  was  apparently  con- 
trived in  the  thickness  of  the  wall,  and  having  fallen  into 
disuse,  had  been  closed  up  with  bricks  in  this  manner.  It 
was  formed  after  the  simple  old-fashioned  plan  of  oven- 
building — a  mere  oblate  cavity  without  a  flue. 

Mansion  now  stretched  his  arm  into  the  oven,  dragged 
forth  a  heavy  weight  of  great  bulk,  and  let  it  slide  to  the 
ground.  The  woman  who  watched  him  could  see  the  object 
plainly.  It  was  a  common  corn-sack,  nearly  full,  and  was 
tied  at  the  mouth  in  the  usual  way. 

The  steward  had  once  or  twice  started  up,  as  if  he  had 
heard  sounds,  and  his  motions  now  became  more  cat-like 
still.  On  a  sudden  he  put  out  the  light.  Anne  had  made 
no  noise,  yet  a  foreign  noise  of  some  kind  had  certainly  been 
made  in  the  intervening  portion  of  the  house.  She  heard  it. 
*'  One  of  the  rats,"  she  thought. 

He  seemed  soon  to  recover  from  his  alarm,  but  changed 
his  tactics  completely.  He  did  not  light  his  candle — going 
on  with  his  work  in  the  dark.  She  had  only  sounds  to  go  by 
now,  and,  judging  as  well  as  she  could  from  these,  he  was 
piling  up  the  bricks  which  closed  the  oven's  mouth  as  they 
had  been  before  he  disturbed  them.  The  query  that  had  not 
left  her  brain  all  the  interval  of  her  inspection — how  should  she 
get  back  into  her  bedroom  again — now  received  a  solution. 
Whilst  he  was  replacing  the  cupboard,  she  would  glide  across 
the  brewhouse,  take  the  key  from  the  top  of  the  copper,  run 
upstairs,  unlock  the  door,  and  bring  back  the  key  again  :  if 
he  returned  to  bed,  which  was  unlikely,  he  would  think  the 
lock  had  failed  to  catch  in  the  staple.  This  thought  and  in- 
tention, occupying  such  length  of  words,  flashed  upon  her  in 
an  instant,  and  hardly  disturbed  her  strong  curiosity  to  stay 
and  learn  the  meaning  of  his  actions  in  the  workshop. 

Slipping  sideways  through  the  first  door  and  closing  it  be- 
hind her,  she  advanced  into  the  darkness  towards  the  sec- 
ond, making  every  individual  footfall  with  the  greatest  care, 
lest  the  fragments  of  rubbish  on  the  floor  should  crackle  be- 
neath her  tread.     She  soon  stood  close  by  the  copper,  and 


364  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

not  more  than  a  foot  from  the  door  of  the  room  occupied  by 
Manston  himself,  from  which  position  she  could  distinctly 
hear  him  breathe  between  each  exertion,  although  it  was  far 
too  dark  to  discern  anything  of  him. 

To  secure  the  key  of  h^r  chamber  was  her  first  anxiety, 
and  accordingly  she  cautiously  reached  out  with  her  hand  to 
where  it  lay. 

Instead  of  touching  it,  her  fingers  came  in  contact  with 
the  extreme  edge  of  a  cloth  garment. 

She  droped  faint  in  a  cold  sweat. 

"  It  was  either  the  coat  tail  or  the  cloak  trimmings  of  a  man 
or  woman  who  was  standing  on  the  brewing  copper  where 
the  key  had  lain." 

The  startling  discovery  so  terrified  her  that  she  could 
hardly  repress  a  sound.  She  withdrew  her  hand  with  a  mo- 
tion like  the  flight  of  an  arrow.  Her  touch  was  so  light 
that  the  wearer  of  the  garment  had  remained  in  entire  igno- 
rance of  it,  and  the  noise  of  Manston's  scraping  might  have 
been  quite  sufficient  to  drown  the  slight  rustle  of  her 
dress. 

The  person  was  obviously  not  the  steward  :  he  was  still 
busy.  It  was  somebody  who,  since  the  light  had  been  ex- 
tinguished, had  taken  advantage  of  the  gloom,  to  come  from 
some  dark  recess  in  the  brewhouse  and  stand  upon  the 
brickwork  of  the  copper. 

The  fear  which  had  at  first  paralyzed  her  lessened  with  the 
birth  of  a  sense  that  fear  now  was  utter  failure  :  she  was  in 
a  desperate  position  and  must  abide  by  the  consequences. 
The  motionless  person  on  the  cojiper  was,  equally  widi 
Manston,  quite  unconscious  of  her  ])roximity,  and  she  ven- 
tured to  advance  her  hand  again,  feeling  behind  the  person, 
till  she  found  the  key.  On  its  return  to  her  side,  her  finger- 
tip skimmed  the  lower  verge  of  a  trousers-leg. 

It  was  a  man,  then,  who  stood  there.  To  go  to  the  door 
just  at  this  time  was  impolitic,  and  she  shrank  back  into  an 
inner  corner  to  wait. 

The  comparative  security  from  discovery  that  her  new 
position  ensured,  resuscitated  reason  a  little,  and  empowered 
her  to  form  some  logical  inferences  : 

I.  The  man  who  stood  on  the  coj)per  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  the  darkness  to  get  there,  as  she  had  to  enter. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  365 

2.  The  man  must  have  been  hid  in  the  outhouse  before 
she  reached  the  door. 

3.  He  must  be  watching  Manston  with  much  calculation 
and  system,  and  for  purposes  of  liis  own. 

She  could  now  tell  by  the  noises  that  Manston  had  com- 
pleted his  re-erection  of  the  cupboard.  She  heard  him  re- 
jilacing  the  articles  it  had  contained — bottle  by  bottle,  tool 
by  tool, — after  which  he  came  into  the  brewhouse,  went  to 
the  window,  and  pulled  down  the  cloths  covering  it ;  but  the 
window  being  rather  small,  this  unveiling  scarcely  relieved 
the  darkness  of  the  interior. 

He  returned  to  the  workshop,  hoisted  something  to  his 
back  by  a  jerk,  and  felt  about  the  room  for  some  other  arti- 
cle. Having  found  it  he  emerged  from  the  inner  door, 
crossed  the  brewhouse,  and  went  into  the  yard.  Directly 
he  stepped  out  she  could  see  his  outline  by  the  light  of  the 
clouded  and  weakly  moon.  The  sack  was  slung  at  his  back, 
and  in  his  hand  he  carried  a  spade. 

Anne  now  waited  in  her  corner  in  breathless  suspense  for 
the  proceedings  of  the  otlier  man.  In  about  half-a-minute 
she  heard  him  descend  from  the  copper,  and  then  the  square 
opening  of  the  doorway  showed  the  outline  of  this  other 
watcher  passing  through  it  likewise.  The  form  was  that  of 
a  broad-shouldered  man  enveloped  in  a  long  coat.  He  van- 
ished after  the  steward. 

The  woman  vented  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  moved  forward  to 
follow.  Simultaneously,  she  discovered  that  the  watcher 
whose  clothing  she  had  touched  was  in  his  turn  watched  and 
followed  also. 

It  was  by  a  woman.  Anne  Seaway  shrank  backward 
again. 

The  unknown  woman  came  forward  from  the  further  side 
of  the  yard,  and  pondered  awhile  in  hesitation.  Tall,  dark, 
and  closely  wrapped,  she  stood  up  from  the  earth  like  a 
cypress.  She  moved,  crossed  the  yard  without  producing 
the  sliglitest  disturbance  by  her  footsteps,  and  then  appeared 
to  go  through  by  a  somewhat  roundabout  or  more  concealed 
route  in  the  same  direction  that  the  others  had  taken. 

Anne  waited  yet  another  minute — then  in  her  turn  noise- 
lessly followed  the  last  woman. 

But  so  impressed  was  she  with  the  sensation  of  people  in 


^Q^  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

hiding,  that  ui  coming  out  of  the  yard  she  turned  her  head  to 
see  if  any  person  were  following  her  in  the  same  way.  No- 
body was  visible,  but  she  discerned,  standing  behind  the 
angle  of  the  stable,  Mansion's  horse  and  gig, ready  harnessed. 

He  did  intend  to  fly  after  all  then,  she  thought.  He 
must  have  placed  the  horse  in  readiness,  in  the  interval  be- 
tween his  leaving  the  house,  and  her  exit  by  the  window. 

However,  there  was  not  tinie  to  weigh  this  branch  of  the 
night's  events.  She  turned  about  again,  and  continued  oa 
the  trail  of  the  other  woman. 


§  6.  From  midnight  to  half  past  one  a.  m. 

Intentness  pervaded  everything  ;  Night  herself  seemed  to 
have  become  a  watcher. 

The  four  persons  proceeded  across  the  glade,  and  into  the 
park  plantation,  at  remote  and  irregular  distances  apart,  be- 
yond ear-shot  of  each  other.  Here  the  ground,  completely 
overhung  by  the  foliage,  was  coated  with  a  thick  moss  which 
was  as  soft  as  velvet  beneath  their  feet.  The  first  watcher, 
that  is,  the  man  walking  more  particularly  in  the  track  of  Man- 
ston,  now  fell  back,  when  Mansion's  housekeeper,  knowing 
the  ground  pretty  well,  dived  circuitously  among  the  trees  and 
got  directly  behind  the  steward,  who,  encumbered  with  his 
load,  had  proceeded  but  slowly.  The  other  woman  seemed 
now  to  be  about  opposite  to  Anne,  or  a  little  in  advance, 
but  on  Mansion's  other  hand. 

He  reached  a  pit,  midway  between  the  waterfall  and  the 
engine-house.  There  he  stopped,  wiped  his  face,  and  lis- 
tened. 

Into  this  pit  had  drifted  uncounted  generations  of  with- 
ered  leaves,  half  fiUing  it.  Oak,  beech,  and  chestnut,  rotten 
and  brown  alike,  mingled  themselves  in  one  fibrous  mass. 
Mansion  descended  into  the  midst  of  them,  placed  his  sack 
on  the  ground,  and  raking  the  leaves  aside  into  a  large  iieap, 
began  digging.  Anne  softly  drew  nearer,  crept  into  a  bush, 
and  turning  her  head  to  survey  the  rest,  missed  the  man 
who  had  drojjped  behind,  and  whom  we  have  called  the  first 
watcher.  Concluding  that  lie,  too,  had  hidden  himself,  she 
turned  her  attention  to  th?  second  watcher,  the  o'dier  woman, 


DESPERA  TE   REMEDIES. 


367 


who  had  meanwhile  advanced  near  to  where  Anne  '.ay  in 
hiding,  and  now  seated  herself  behind  a  tree,  still  closer  to 
the  steward  than  was  Anne  Seaway. 

Here  and  thus  Anne  remained  concealed.  The  crunch 
of  the  steward's  spade,  as  it  cut  into  the  soft  vegetable 
mould,  was  plainly  perceptible  to  her  ears,  when  the  periodic 
cessations  between  the  creaks  of  the  engine  concurred  with 
a  lull  in  the  breeze,  which  otherwise  brought  the  subdued 
roar  of  the  cascade  from  the  farther  side  of  the  bank  thai- 
screened  it.  A  large  hole — some  four  or  five  feet  deep- 
had  been  excavated  by  Manston  in  about  twenty  minutes. 
Into  this  he  immediately  j^laced  the  sack,  and  then  began 
filling  in  the  earth,  and  treading  it  down.  Lastly,  he  care- 
fully raked  the  whole  mass  of  dead  and  dry  leaves  into  the 
middle  of  the  pit,  burying  the  ground  with  them  as  they  had 
buried  it  before. 

For  a  hidingijlace  the  spot  was  unequalled.  The  thick 
accumulation  of  leaves,  which  had  not  been  disturbed  for 
centuries,  might  not  be  disturbed  again  for  centuries  to  come, 
whilst  their  lower  layers  still  decayed  and  added  to  the  mould 
beneath. 

By  the  time  this  work  was  ended  the  sky  had  grown  clearer, 
and  Anne  could  now  see  distinctly  the  face  of  the  other 
woman,  stretching  from  behind  the  tree,  seemingly  forgetful 
of  her  position  in  her  intense  contemplation  of  the  actions 
of  the  steward.  Her  countenance  was  white  and  motion- 
less. 

It  was  impossible  that  Manston  should  not  soon  notice 
her.  At  the  completion  of  his  labor  he  turned,  and  did 
so. 

"  Ho — you  here  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Don't  think  I  am  a  spy  upon  you,"  she  said,  in  an  im- 
ploring whisper.  Anne  recognized  the  voice  as  Miss 
Aldclyfie's. 

The  trembling  lady  added  hastily  another  remark,  which 
was  drowned  in  the  recurring  creak  of  the  engine  close  at 
hand.  The  first  watcher,  if  he  had  come  no  nearer  than 
his  original  position,  was  too  far  off  to  hear  any  part  of  this 
dialogue,  on  account  of  the  roar  of  the  falling  water,  which 
could  reach  him  unimpeded  by  the  bank. 

The  remark  of  Miss  Aldclyffe  to   Manston   had  plainly 


368 


DESrERA  TE   REMEDIES. 


been  concerning  the  first  watcher,  for  Manston,  with  ,*.is 
si)ade  in  his  hand,  instantly  rushed  to  where  the  man  was 
concealed,  and,  before  the  latter  could  disengage  himself 
from  the  boughs,  the  steward  struck  him  on  the  head  with 
the  blade  of  the  instrument.     The  man  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Fly  !  "  said  Miss  AldclyfFe  to  Manston.  Manston  van- 
ished amidst  the  trees.  Miss  Aldclyffe  went  off  in  a  con- 
trary direction. 

Anne  Seaway  was  about  to  run  away  likewise,  when  she 
turned  and  looked  at  the  fallen  man.  He  lay  on  his  face, 
motionless. 

Many  of  these  women  who  own  to  no  moral  code  show 
considerable  magnanimity  when  they  see  peojjle  in  trouble. 
To  act  rightly  sunply  because  it  is  one's  duty  is  proper  :  but 
a  good  action  which  is  the  result  of  no  law  of  reflection 
shines  more  than  any. 

She  went  up  to  him  and  gently  turned  him  over,  upon 
which  he  began  to  show  signs  of  life.  By  her  assistance  he 
was  soon  able  to  stand  upright. 

He  looked  about  him  with  a  bewildered  air,  endeavoring 
to  collect  his  ideas.  "  Who  are  you  ? "  he  said  to  the 
woman,  mechanically. 

It  was  bad  policy  now  to  attempt  disguise.  "  I  am  the 
supposed  Mrs.  Manston,"  she  said.     *'  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  detective  employed  by  Mr.  Raunham  to  sift 
this  mystery — which  may  be  criminal."  He  stretched  his 
limbs,  pressed  his  head,  and  seemed  gradually  to  awake  to  a 
sense  of  having  been  incautious  in  his  utterance.  "  Never 
you  mind  who  I  am,"  he  continued.  "  Well — it  doesn't 
matter  now,  either — it  will  no  longer  be  a  secret." 

He  stooped  for  his  hat  and  ran  in  the  direction  the  steward 
had  taken — coming  back  again  after  the  lapse  of  a  minute. 

"It's  only  an  aggravated  assault,  after  all,"  he  said  hastily, 
"until  we  have  found  out  for  certain  what's  buried  here.  It 
may  be  only  a  bag  of  building  rubbish  ;  but  it  may  be  more. 
Come  and  help  me  dig."  He  seized  the  spade  with  the 
awkwardness  of  a  town  man,  and  went  into  the  pit,  continu- 
ing a  muttered  discourse.  "  It's  no  use  my  running  after 
h>m  single-handed,"  he  said.  "  He's  ever  so  far  off  by  this 
time.     The  best  step  is  to  see  what  is  here." 

It  was  far  easier  for  the  detective  to  reopen  the  hole  than 


DESPERA  TE  REMEDIES. 


369 


it  had  been  for  Mansion  to  form  it.  The  leaves  were  raked 
away,  the  loam  thrown  out,  and  the  sack  dragged  forth. 

"  Hold  this,"  he  said  to  Anne,  whose  curiosity  still  kept 
her  standing  near.  He  turned  on  the  light  of  a  dark  lantern 
he  had  brought,  and  gave  it  into  her  hand. 

The  string  which  bound  the  mouth  of  the  sack  was  now 
cut.  The  detective  laid  the  bag  on  its  side,  seized  it  by  the 
bottom,  and  jerked  forth  the  contents.  A  large  package 
was  disclosed,  carefully  wrapped  up  in  impervious  tarpau- 
lin, also  well  tied. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  pulling  open  the  folds  at  one  end, 
when  a  light-colored  glossy  substance,  hanging  on  the  out- 
side, arrested  his  eye.  He  put  his  hand  upon  it ;  it  felt 
stringy,  and  adhered  to  his  fingers.  "  Hold  the  light  close," 
he  said. 

She  held  it  close.  He  raised  his  hand  to  the  glass,  and 
they  both  peered  at  an  almost  intangible  filament  he  held  be- 
tween his  finger  and  thumb.  It  consisted  of  a  few  long 
hairs  ;  the  hair  of  a  woman. 

"  God  !  I  couldn't  believe  it — no,  I  couldn't  believe  it !" 
the  detective  whispered,  horror-struck.  "  And  I  have  lost 
the  man  for  the  present  through  my  unbelief  Let's  get  into 
a  sheltered  place.  .  .  .  Now  wait  a  minute  whilst  I  prove 
it." 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  with- 
drew thence  a  minute  packet  of  brown  paper.  Spreading  it 
out  he  disclosed,  coiled  in  the  middle,  another  long  hair. 
It  was  the  hair  the  clerk's  wife  had  found  on  Mansion's  pil- 
low nine  days  before  the  Carriford  fire. 

He  took  a  hair  from  amongst  those  just  discovered,  and 
held  it  with  the  preserved  one  to  the  light  ;  they  were  both 
of  a  i^ale  brown  hue.  He  laid  them  parallel  and  stretched 
out  his  arms  ;  they  were  of  about  the  same  quality  and  text- 
ure, and  of  about  one  length.  The  detective  turned  to 
Anne. 

"It  is  the  body  of  his  first  wife,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  He 
murdered  her,  as  Mr.  Springrove  and  the  rector  suspected — 
but  how  and  when,  God  only  knows." 

"  And  1  ! "  exclaimed  Anne  Seaway,  a  probable  and 
natural  sequence  of  events  and  motives  explanatory  of  the 
whole  crime — events  and  motives  shadowed  forth  by  the 
16« 


370 


DESPERA  TE    REMEDIES. 


letter,  Mansion's  possession  of  it,  his  renunciation  of  Cy- 
therea,  and  instalment  of  herself — flashing  upon  her  mind 
with  the  rapidity  of  lightning. 

"  Ah — I  see,"  said  the  detective,  standing  unusually  close 
to  her  :  and  a  handcuff  was  on  her  wrist.  "  You  must  come 
with  me,  madam.  Knowing  as  much  about  a  secret  murder 
as  God  knows,  is  a  very  suspicious  thing :  it  doesn't  make 
you  a  goddess — far  from  it."  He  directed  the  bull's-eye 
into  her  face. 

"Pooh — lead  on,"  she  said,  scornfully,  "and  don't  lose 
your  principal  actor  for  the  sake  of  torturing  a  poor  subor- 
dinate like  me." 

He  loosened  her  hand,  gave  her  his  arm,  and  dragged  her 
out  of  the  grove,  making  her  run  beside  him  till  they  had 
reached  the  rectory.  A  light  was  burning  here,  and  an  aux- 
iliary of  the  detective's  awaiting  him  :  a  horse  ready  har- 
nessed to  a  spring-cart  was  standing  outside. 

"You  have  come — I  wish  I  had  known  that,"  the  detec- 
tive said  to  his  assistant,  hurriedly  and  angrily.  "  Well, 
we've  blundered — he's  gone — you  should  have  been  here,  as 
I  said  !  I  was  sold  by  that  woman,  Miss  Aldclyffe — she 
watched  me."  He  hastily  gave  directions  in  an  undertone 
to  this  man.  The  concluding  words  were,  "  Go  in  to  the 
rector — he's  up.  Detain  Miss  Aldclyffe.  I,  in  the  mean- 
time, am  driving  to  Froominster  with  this  one,  and  for  help. 
VVe  shall  be  sure  to  have  him  when  it  gets  light." 

He  assisted  Anne  into  the  vehicle,  and  drove  off  with  her. 
As  they  went,  the  clear,  dry  road  showed  before  them  be- 
tween the  grassy  quarters  at  each  side,  like  a  white  riband, 
and  made  their  progress  easy.  They  came  to  Churchway 
Bower,  where  the  highway  was  overhung  by  dense  firs  for 
some  distance  on  both  sides.     It  was  totally  dark  here. 

A  smash  :  a  rude  shock.  In  the  very  midst  of  its  length, 
at  the  point  where  the  road  began  to  drop  down  a  hill,  the 
detective  drove  against  something  with  a  jerk  which  nearly 
flung  them  both  to  the  ground. 

The  uian  recovered  himself,  placed  Anne  on  the  seat,  and 
readied  out  his  hand.  He  found  that  the  off'-wheel  of  hia 
gig  was  locked  in  that  of  another  conveyance  of  some  kind. 

"  Hoy  !  "  said  the  officer. 

Nobody  answered. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES.  37 1 

"  Hoy,  you  man  asleep  there  ! "  he  said  again. 

No  reply. 

"  Well,  that's  odd — this  comes  of  the  folly  of  travelling 
without  gig-lamps  because  you  expect  the  dawn."  He 
jumped  to  the  ground  and  turned  on  his  lantern. 

There  was  the  gig  which  had  obstructed  him,  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  road  ;  a  jaded  horse  harnessed  to  it,  but 
no  human  being  in  or  near  the  vehicle. 

"  Do  you  know  whose  gig  this  is  ?  "  he  said  to  the  woman. 
.  "  No,"  she  said,  sullenly.  But  she  did  recognize  it  as  the 
steward's. 

"  I'll  swear  it's  Manston's  !  Come,  I  can  hear  it  by  your 
tone.  However,  you  needn't  say  anything  which  may  crim- 
inate you.  What  forethought  the  man  must  have  had — how 
carefully  he  must  have  considered  possible  contingencies  ! 
Why  he  must  have  got  the  horse  and  gig  ready  before  he 
began  shifting  the  body." 

He  listened  for  a  sound  among  the  trees.  None  was  to 
be  heard  but  the  occasional  scamper  of  a  rabbit  over  the 
witliered  leaves.  He  threw  the  light  of  his  lantern  through 
a  gap  in  the  hedge,  but  could  see  nothing  beyond  an  impen- 
etrable thicket.  It  was  clear  that  Manston  was  not  many 
yards  off,  but  the  question  was  how  to  find  him.  Nothing 
could  be  done  by  the  detective  just  then,  encumbered  as 
he  was  by  the  horse  and  Anne.  If  he  had  entered  the 
thicket  on  a  search  unaided,  Manston  might  have  stepped 
unobserved  from  behind  a  bush  and  murdered  him  with  the 
greatest  ease.  Indeed  there  were  such  strong  reasons  for 
the  exploit  in  Manston's  circumstances  at  that  moment  that, 
without  showing  cowardice,  his  pursuer  felt  it  hazardous  to 
remain  any  longer  where  he  stood. 

He  hastily  tied  the  head  of  Manston's  horse  to  the  back 
of  his  own  vehicle,  that  the  steward  might  be  deprived  of 
the  use  of  any  means  of  escape  other  than  his  own  legs,  and 
drove  on  thus  with  his  prisoner  to  Froomin.ster.  Arrived 
there,  he  lodged  her  in  the  police-station,  and  then  took  im- 
mediate steps  for  the  capture  of  Manston. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE  EVENTS   OF  THREE   HOURS. 
§   I.  March  the  twenty-third.     Mid-day. 

THIRTY-SIX  hours  had  elapsed  since  AEanston's 
escape. 

It  was  market-day  at  Fiooininster.  The  farmers  outside 
and  inside  the  corn-exchange  looked  at  their  samples  of 
wheat,  and  poured  them  critically  as  usual  from  one  i>alm  to 
another,  but  they  thought  and  spoke  of  Mansion.  Grocers 
serving  behind  their  counters,  instead  of  using  their  constant 
phrase,  "The  next  thing,  please?"  substituted,  "  Have  you 
heard  if  he's  caught  ?"  Dairymen  and  drovers  standing  be- 
side the  sheep  and  cattle-pens,  spread  their  legs  firmly,  re- 
adjusted their  hats,  thrust  their  hands  into  the  lowest  depths 
of  their  pockets,  regarded  the  animals  with  the  utmost  keen- 
ness of  which  the  eye  was  capable,  and  said,  "  Ay,  ay,  so's  : 
they'll  have  him  avore  night." 

Later  in  the  day,  Edward  Springrove  passed  along  the 
street  hurriedly  and  anxiously.  "  Well,  have  you  heard  any 
more  ?  "  he  said  to  an  acquaintance  who  accosted  him. 

"They  tracked  him  in  this  way,"  said  the  other  young 
man.  "  A  vagrant  first  told  them  that  Manston  had  passed  a 
rick  at  daybreak,  under  which  this  man  was  lying.  They 
followed  the  track  he  pointed  out  and  ultimately  came  to  a 
stile. 

"  On  the  other  side  was  a  heap  of  half-hardened  mud, 
scraped  from  the  road.  On  the  surface  of  the  heap,  where 
it  had  been  smoothed  by  the  shovel,  was  distinctly  imprinted 
he  form  of  a  man's  hand,  the  buttons  of  his  waistcoat,  and 
/lis  watch-chain,  showing  that  he  had  stumbled  in  hurrying 
over  the  stile,  and  fallen  there.  The  pattern  of  the  chain 
proved  the  man  to  have  been  Manston.     They  followed  on 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


373 


till  they  reached  a  ford  crossed  by  stepping-stones — on  the 
further  bank  were  the  same  footmarks  that  had  shown  them- 
selves beside  the  stile.  The  whole  of  this  course  had  been 
in  the  direction  of  Creston.  On  they  went,  and  the  next 
clue  Avas  furriished  them  by  a  shepherd.  He  said  that 
wherever  a  clear  space  three  or  four  yards  wide  ran  in  a  line 
through  a  flock  of  sheep  lying  about  a  ewe-lease,  it  was  a 
])roof  that  somebody  had  paf^sed  there  not  more  than  half  an 
hour  earlier.  At  twelve  o'clock  that  day  he  had  noticed 
such  a  feature  in  his  flock.  Nothing  more  could  be  heard 
of  him,  and  the}-got  into  Creston.  The  steam-packet  to  the 
Channel  Islands  was  to  start  at  eleven  last  night,  and  they 
at  once  concluded  that  his  hope  was  to  get  to  France  by 
way  of  Jersey  and  St.  Malo, — his  only  chance,  al'  the  rail- 
way stations  being  watched. 

"  Well,  they  went  to  the  boat :  he  was  not  on  board  then. 
They  went  again  at  half-past  ten  :  he  had  not  come.  Two 
men  now  placed  tiiemselves  under  the  lamp  immediately 
beside  the  gangway.  Another  stayed  by  the  ofiice  door, 
and  one  or  two  more  up  East  Street — the  short  cut  to  the 
pier.  At  a  quarter  to  eleven  the  mail-bags  were  put  on 
board.  Whilst  the  attention  of  the  idlers  was  directed  to 
the  mails,  down  East  Street  came  a  man  as  boldly  as  possible. 
The  gait  was  Manston's,  but  not  the  clothes.  He  passed 
over  to  the  shaded  part  of  the  street :  heads  were  turned.  I 
suppose  this  warned  him,  for  he  never  emerged  from  the 
shadow.  They  watched  and  waited,  but  the  steward  did  not 
reappear.  The  alarm  was  raised — they  searched  the  town 
high  and  low — no  Manston.  All  this  morning  they  have 
been  searching,  but  there's  not  a  sign  of  him  anywhere. 
However,  he  has  lost  his  last  chance  of  getting  across  the 
Channel.  It  is  reported  that  he  has  since  changed  clothes 
with  a  laborer." 

During  this  narration,  Edward,  lost  in  thought,  had  let  his 
eyes  follow  a  shabby  man  in  a  smock-fi-ock,  but  wearing 
light  boots — who  was  stalking  down  the  street  under  a  bun- 
dle of  straw  which  overhung  and  concealed  his  head.  It 
was  a  very  ordinary  circumstance  for  a  man  with  a  bundle  of 
straw  on  his  shoulders  and  overhanging  his  head,  to  go 
down  the  High  Street  of  Froominster.  Edward  saw  him 
cross  the  bridge  which  divided  the  town  from  the  country^ 


374 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


place  his  shaggy  encumbrance  by  the  side  of  ihe  road,  and 
leave  it  there. 

Springrove  now  parted  from  his  acquaintance,  and  went 
also  in  the  direction  of  the  bridge.  As  far  as  he  could  see 
stretched  the  turnpike-road,  and,  while  he  was  looking,  he 
noticed  a  man  to  leap  from  the  hedge  at  a  point  two  hun- 
dred, or  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  ahead,  cross  the  road, 
and  go  through  a  wicket  on  the  other  side.  This  figure 
seemed  like  that  of  the  man  who  had  been  carrying  the 
bundle  of  straw.     He  looked  at  the  straw  :  it  still  stood  alone. 

The  subjoined  facts  sprang  as  it  were  into  juxtaposition 
in  his  brain  : — 

Manston  had  been  seen  wearing  the  clothes  of  a  laboring 
man — a  brown  smock-frock. 

So  had  this  man,  who  seemed  other  than  a  laborer,  on 
second  thoughts  :  and  he  had  concealed  his  face  by  his  bun- 
dle of  straw  with  the  greatest  ease  and  naturalness. 

The  path  the  man  had  taken  led  to  Palchurch,  where  Cy- 
therea  was  living. 

If  Mrs.  Manston  was  murdered,  as  some  said,  on  the 
night  of  the  fire,  Cytherea  was  the  steward's  lawful  wife. 

Manston,  at  ba}',  and  reckless  of  results,  might  rush  to  his 
wife,  and  harm  her. 

It  was  a  horrible  supposition  for  a  man  who  loved  Cy- 
therea to  entertain  ;  but  Springrove  could  not  resist  its  influ- 
ence.    He  started  oflf  for  Palchurch. 


§  2.   One  to  two  o'clock  p.  m. 

On  that  self-same  mid-day,  whilst  Edward  was  proceeding 
to  Palchurch  by  the  foot-path  across  the  fields,  Owen  Graye 
had  left  the  village  and  was  riding  along  the  turnpike-road 
to  Froominster,  that  he  might  ascertain  the  exact  truth  of 
the  strange  rumor  which  had  reached  him  concerning 
Manston.  Not  to  disquiet  his  sister,  he  had  said  nothing  to 
her  of  the  matter. 

She  sat  by  the  v\'indow,  reading.  From  her  position  she 
could  see  up  the  lane  for  a  distance  of  at  least  a  hundred 
yards.  Passers-by  were  so  rare  in  this  retired  nook,  that  the 
eyes  of  those   who   dwelt  by  the  wayside  were  invariably 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


375 


lifted  to  every  one  on  the  road,  great  and  small,  as  to  a 
novelty. 

A  man  in  a  brown  smock-frock  turned  the  corner  and 
came  towards  the  house.  It  being  market-day  at  Froomin- 
ster,  the  village  was  nearly  deserted,  and  more  than  this,  the 
old  farm-house  in  which  Owen  and  his  sister  were  staying, 
stood,  as  has  been  stated,  apart  from  the  body  of  cottages. 
The  man  did  not  look  respectable  :  Cytherea  arose  and 
bolted  the  door. 

Unfortunately  he  was  near  enough  to  see  her  cross  the 
room.  He  advanced  to  the  door,  knocked,  and  receiving 
no  answer,  came  to  the  window ;  he  next  pressed  his  fice 
against  the  glass,  peering  in. 

Cytherea's  experience  at  that  moment  was  probably  as 
trying  a  one  as  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  gentle  woman  to  en- 
dure. She  recognized  in  the  peering  face  that  of  the  man 
she  had  married. 

But  not  a  movement  was  made  by  her,  not  a  sound 
escaped  her.  Her  fear  was  great ;  but  had  she  known  the 
truth — that  the  man  outside,  feeling  he  had  nothing  on  earih 
to  lose  by  any  act,  was  in  the  last  stage  of  recklessness,  ter- 
rified nature  must  have  given  way. 

"Cytherea,"  he  said,  "let  me  come  in:  I  am  your  hus- 
band." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  still  not  realizing  the  magnitude  of  her 
peril.  "  If  you  want  to  speak  to  us,  wait  till  my  brother 
comes." 

"O,  he's  not  at  home?  Cytherea,  I  can't  live  without 
you  !  All  my  sin  has  been  because  I  love  you  so  !  Will 
you  fly  with  me  ?  I  have  money  enough  for  us  both — only 
come  with  me." 

"  Not  now — not  now." 

"  I  am  your  husband  I  tell  you,  and  I  must  come  in." 

"You  cannot,"  she  said  faintly.  His  words  began  to  ter- 
rify her. 

"I  will,  I  say!"  he  exclaimed.  "Will  you  let  me  in,  J 
ask  once  more  ?  " 

"  No — I  will  not,"  said  Cytherea. 

"Then  I  will  let  myself  in!"  he  answered,  resolutely, 
"  I  will,  if  I  die  for  it ! " 

The  windows  were  glazed  in  lattice  panes  of  leadwork, 


376  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

hung  in  casements.  He  broke  one  of  the  panes  with  a  stone, 
thrust  his  hand  through  the  hole,  unfastened  the  latch  which 
held  the  casement  close,  and  began  opening  the  window. 

Instantly  the  shutters  tlew  together  with  a  slam,  and  were 
barred  with  desperate  quickness  by  Cytherea  on  the  inside. 

*'  D n  you  ! "  he  exclaimed. 

He  ran  round  to  the  back  of  the  house.  His  impatience 
was  greater  now :  he  thrust  his  fist  through  the  ])antry  win- 
dow at  one  blow,  and  opened  it  in  the  same  way  as  the  for- 
mer one  had  been  opened,  before  the  terror-stricken  girl  was 
aware  that  he  had  gone  round,  iw  an  instant  he  stood  in 
the  pantry,  advanced  to  the  front  room  where  siie  was,  tlung 
back  the  shutters,  and  held  out  his  arms  to  embrace  her. 

In  extremely  trying  moments  of  bodily  or  mental  pain, 
Cytherea  either  flushed  hot,  or  fjided  pale,  according  to  the 
state  of  her  constitution  at  the  moment.  Now  she  burned 
like  fire  from  head  to  foot,  and  this  preserved  her  conscious- 
ness. 

Never  before  had  the  poor  child's  natural  agility  served 
her  in  such  good  stead  as  now.  A  heavy  oblong  table 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Round  this  table  she  tiew, 
keeping  it  between  herself  and  Mansion,  her  large  eyes 
wide  open  with  terror,  their  dilated  pupils  constantly  fixed 
upon  Mansion's,  to  read  by  his  expression  whether  his  next 
intention  was  to  dart  to  the  right  or  the  left. 

Even  he,  at  that  heated  moment,  could  not  endure  the 
expression  of  unutterable  agony  which  shone  from  that  ex- 
traordinary gaze  of  hers.  It  had  surely  been  given  her  by 
God  as  a  means  of  defence.  Mansion  continued  his  pur- 
suit with  a  lowered  eye. 

The  panting  and  maddened  demon — blind  to  everything 
but  the  capture  of  his  wife — went  with  a  rush  under  the 
table  :  she  went  over  it  like  a  bird.  He  went  heavily  over 
it :  she  flew  under  it,  and  was  out  at  the  other  side. 

"  One  on  her  youth  and  pliant  limbs  relies, 
One  on  his  sinews  and  his  giant  size." 

But  his  superior  strength  was  sure  to  tire  her  down  in  the 
long  run.  She  felt  her  weakness  increasing  with  the  quick- 
ness of  her  breath  :  she  uttered  a  wild  scream,  which  in  its 
heart-rending  intensity,  seemed  to  echo  for  miles. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  377 

At  the  same  juncture  her  hair  became  unfastens  J,  and 
rolled  down  about  her  shoulders.  The  least  accident  at  such 
critical  periods  is  sufficient  to  confuse  the  overwrought  intel- 
ligence. She  lost  sight  of  his  intended  direction  for  one 
jnstant,  and  he  immediately  out-manoeuvred  her. 

"  At  last !  my  Cytherea  !  "  he  cried,  overturning  the  table, 
springing  over  it,  seizing  one  of  the  long  brown  tresses,  pull- 
ing her  towards  him,  and  clasping  her  round.  She  writhed 
downwards  between  his  arms  and  breast,  and  fell  fainting 
on  the  floor.  For  the  first  time  his  action  was  leisurely. 
He  lifted  her  upon  the  sofa,  exclaiming,  "  Rest  there  for  a 
while,  my  frightened  little  bird  ! " 

And  then  there  was  an  end  of  his  triumph.  He  felt  him- 
self clutched  by  the  collar,  and  whizzed  backwards  with  the 
force  of  a  battering-rain  against  the  fireplace.  Springrove 
wild,  red,  and  breathless,  had  sprung  in  at  the  open  window, 
and  stood  once  more  between  man  and  wife. 

Mansion  was  on  his  legs  again  in  an  instant.  A  fiery 
glance  on  the  one  side,  a  glance  of  pitiless  justice  on  the 
other,  passed  between  them. 

It  was  again  the  meeting  in  the  vineyard  of  Naboth  the 
Jezreelite  :  "  Hast  thou  found  me,  O  mine  enemy  ?  And 
he  answered,  I  have  found  thee  :  because  thou  hast  sold 
thyself  to  work  evil  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord." 

A  desperate  wrestle  now  began  between  the  two  men. 
Manston  was  the  taller,  but  there  was  in  Edward  much  hard 
tough  muscle  which  the  delicate  flesh  of  the  steward  lacked. 
They  flew  together  like  the  jaws  of  a  gin.  In  a  minute  they 
were  both  on  the  lloor,  rolling  over  and  over,  locked  in  each 
other's  grasp  as  tightly  as  if  they  had  been  one  organic 
being  at  war  widi  itself — PiLdward  trying  to  secure  Mansion's 
arms  with  a  small  thong  he  had  drawn  from  his  pocket, 
Manston  trying  to  reach  his  knife. 

Two  characteristic  noises  pervaded  the  apartment  through 
this  momentous  space  of  time.  One  was  the  sharp  panting 
of  the  two  combatants,  so  similar  in  each  as  to  be  undistin- 
guishable  :  the  other  was  the  stroke  of  their  heels  and  toes, 
as  they  smote  the  floor  at  every  contortion  of  body  or 
limbs. 

Cytherea  had  not  lost  consciousness  for  more  than  thirty 
seconds.     She  had  then  leapt   up  without  recognising  that 


378  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Edward  was  her  deliverer,  unfastened  the  door,  and  rushed 
out,  screaming  wildly,  "Come  !  Help  !  O  help  !" 

Three  men  stood  not  twenty  yards  off,  looking  perplexed. 
They  dashed  forward  at  her  words.  "  Have  you  seen  a 
shabby  man  with  a  smock-frock  on  lately  ?  "  they  inquireo.. 
She  pointed  to  the  door,  and  ran  on  the  same  as  before. 

Manston,  who  had  just  loosened  himself  from  Edwaid's 
grasp,  seemed  at  this  moment  to  renounce  his  intention  of 
pushing  the  conflict  to  a  desperate  end.  "  1  give  it  all  up 
for  life — dear  life!"  he  cried  with  a  hoarse  laugh.  "A 
reckless  man  has  a  dozen  lives — see  how  I'll  baffle  you  all 
yet ! " 

He  rushed  out  of  the  house,  but  no  further.  The  boast 
was  his  last.  In  one  half-minute  more  he  was  helpless  in 
the  hands  of  his  pursuers. 

Edward  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  paused  to  recover 
breath.  His  thoughts  had  never  forsaken  Cytherea,  and  his 
first  act  now  was  to  hasten  up  the  lane  after  her.  She  had 
not  gone  far.  He  found  her  leaning  upon  a  bank  by  the 
roadside,  where  she  had  flung  herself  down  in  sheer  exhaus- 
tion. He  ran  up  and  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and  thus  aided 
she  was  enabled  to  stand  upright — clinging  to  him.  What 
would  Springrove  have  given  to  imprint  a  kiss  u[)oa  her  lips 
then  ! 

They  walked  slowly  towards  the  house.  The  distressing 
sensation  of  whose  wife  she  was,  could  not  entirely  quench 
the  resuscitated  pleasure  he  felt  at  her  grateful  recognition 
of  him,  and  her  confiding  seizure  of  his  arm  for  support. 
He  conveyed  her  carefully  into  the  house. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  whilst  she  was  sitting  in  a  par- 
tially recovered,  half-dozing  state  in  an  arm-chair,  Edward 
beside  her  waiting  anxiously  till  Graye  should  arrive,  they 
saw  a  spring-cart  [)ass  the  door.  Old  and  dry  mud-splashes 
from  long-forgotten  rains  disfigured  its  wheels  and  sides  ; 
the  varnish  and  paint  had  been  scratched  and  dimmed  ;  or- 
nament had  long  been  forgotten  in  a  restless  contemplation 
of  use.  Three  men  sal  on  the  seat,  the  middle  one  being 
Manston.  His  hands  were  bound  in  front  of  him,  his  eyes 
were  set  directly  forward,  his  countenance  pallid,  hard, 
and  fixed. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


379 


Springrove  had  told  Cytherea  of  Mansion's  crime  in  a 
few  short  words.     He  now  said  solemnly,  "  He  is  to  die." 

"  And  I  cannot  mourn  for  him,"  she  replied  with  a  shud 
der,  leaning  back  and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  two  short  remarks,  Spring- 
rove  watched  the  cart  round  the  corner,  and  heard  the  rattle 
of  its  wheels  gradually  dying  away  as  it  rolled  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Froominster. 


E 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  EVENTS   OF  EIGHTEEN  HOURS. 

§  I.  March  the  twenty -ninth.     Noon. 

XACTLY  seven  days  after  Edward  Si^ringrove  had 
seen  the  man  with  the  bundle  of  straw  walking  down 
the  streets  of  Frooniinster,  old  Farmer  Springrove  was 
standing  on  the  edge  of  the  same  pavement,  talking  to  his 
friend  J^'armer  Baker. 

There  was  a  pause  in  their  discourse.  Mr.  Springrove 
was  looking  down  the  street  at  some  object  which  had  at- 
tracted his  attention.  "Ah,  'tis  what  we  shall  all  come  to," 
he  murmured. 

The  other  looked  in  the  same  direction.  "  True,  neighbor 
SjJringrove ;  true." 

Two  men,  advancing  one  behind  the  other  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  were  what  the  farmers  referred  to.  They  were 
carpenters,  and  bore  on  their  shoulders  an  empty  coffin, 
covered  by  a  thin  black  cloth. 

"  I  always  feel  a  satisfaction  at  being  breasted  by  such  a 
sight  as  that,"  said  Springrove,  still  regarding  the  men's  sad 
burden.     "  I  call  it  a  sort  of  medicine." 

"  And  it  is  medicine  ...  1  have  not  heard  of  anybody 
being  ill  up  this  way  lately?  D'seem  as  if  the  person  died 
suddenly." 

"  May  be  so.  Ah,  Baker,  we  say  sudden  death,  don't  we. 
But  there's  no  diflerence  in  their  nature  between  sudden 
death,  and  death  of  any  other  sort.  There's  no  such  thing 
as  a  random  snap|>en  oif  of  what  was  laid  down  to  last  longer. 
We  only  suddenly  light  upon  an  end — thoughtfully  formed 
as  any  other — which  has  been  existen  at  that  very  same 
point  from  the  beginnen,  though  unseen  by  us  to  be  so 
soon." 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


381 


"It  is  just  a  discovery  to  your  own  mind,  and  not  an  al- 
teration in  the  Lord's." 

"  That's  it.  Unexpected  is  not  as  to  the  thing,  but  as  to 
our  sight." 

"  Now  you'll  hardly  believe  me,  neighbor,  but  this  little 
scene  in  front  of  us  d'make  me  feel  less  anxious  about 
pushen  on  wi'  that  threshen  and  winnowen  next  week,  that 
1  was  speaken  about.  Why  should  we  not  stand  still,  says 
I  to  myself,  and  fling  a  quiet  eye  upon  the  Whys  and  the 
Wherefores,  before  the  end  of  it  all,  and  we  d'go  down  into 
the  moulderen  place,  and  are  forgotten  ?  " 

*"Tis  a  feelen  that  will  come.  But 'twont  bear  looken 
into.  There's  a  backward  current  in  the  world,  and  we 
must  do  our  utmost  to  advance  in  order  just  to  bide  where 
we  be.  But,  Baker,  they  are  turnen  in  here  with  the  cofiin, 
look." 

The  two  carpenters  had  borne  their  load  into  a  lane  close 
at  hand.  The  farmers,  in  common  with  others,  turned  and 
watched  them  along  the  lane. 

'"Tis  a  man's  cofiin,  and  a  tall  man's,  too,"  continued 
Farmer  Springrove.  "  His  was  a  fine  frame,  whoever  he 
was." 

**  A  very  plain  box  for  the  poor  soul — just  the  rough  elm, 
you  see."     The  corner  of  the  cloth  had  blown  aside. 

"Yes,  for  a  very  poor  man.  Well,  death's  all  the  less 
insult  to  him.  1  have  often  thought  how  far  the  richer  class 
sink  into  insignificance  beside  the  poor  p\\  extreme  occa- 
sions like  this.  Perhaps  the  greatest  of  all  the  reconcilers 
of  a  thoughtful  mind  to  poverty — and  I  speak  from  expe- 
rience— is  the  grand  quietness  it  possesses  him  with  when 
the  uncertainty  of  his  Ufe  shows  itself  more  vividly  than 
usual." 

As  Springrove  finished  speaking,  the  bearers  of  the  coffin 
went  across  a  gravelled  square  facing  the  end  of  the  lane, 
and  a])proached  a  grim  and  massive  archway.  They  paused 
beneath  it,  rang  a  bell,  and  waited. 

Over  the  archway  was  written  in  Egyptian  capitals, 

"COUNTY  GAOL/' 

The  small  rectangular  wicket,  which  was  constructed  in 


382  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

one  of  the  two  iron- studded  doors,  was  opened  from  the  in- 
side. The  men  severally  stepped  over  the  threshold,  the 
coffin  dragged  its  melancholy  length  through  the  ai^erture, 
and  both  entered  the  court,  and  were  covered  from  sight, 

"  Somebody  in  the  gaol,  then  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  one  of  the  prisoners,"  said  a  boy,  scudding  by  at 
the  moment,  and  who  passed  on  whistling. 

"  Do  you  know  the  name  of  the  man  who  is  dead  ?  "  in- 
quired Baker  of  a  third  bystander. 

"Yes,  'tis  all  over  town — surely  you  know,  Mr.  Spring- 
rove?  Why  Manston,  Miss  Aldclyffe's  steward.  He  was 
found  dead  the  first  thing  this  morning.  He  had  hung  him- 
self behind  the  door  of  his  cell,  in  some  way,  by  a  handker- 
chief and  some  strips  of  his  clothes.  The  turnkey  says  his 
features  were  scarcely  changed,  and  just  caught  the  early 
sunlight  shining  in  at  the  grating  upon  him.  He  has  left  a 
complete  account  of  the  murder,  and  all  that  led  to  it.  So 
there's  an  end  of  him." 

It  was  perfectly  true :  Manston  was  dead. 

The  previous  day  he  had  been  allowed  the  use  of  writing 
materials,  and  had  occujned  himself  for  nearly  seven  hours 
in  preparing  the  following  confession. 

"  LAST   WORDS. 

"  Having  found  man's  life  to  be  a  wretchedly  conceived 
scheme,  1  renounce  it,  and  to  cause  no  further  trouble,  I 
write  down  the  facts  connected  with  my  past  proceedings. 

"  After  thanking  God,  on  first  entering  my  house,  on  the 
night  of  the  fire  at  Carriford,  for  my  release  from  bondage 
to  a  woman  I  detested,  I  went,  a  second  time,  to  the  scene 
of  the  disaster,  and,  finding  that  nothing  could  be  done  by 
remaining  there,  shortly  afterwards  I  returned  home  again 
in  the  company  of  Mr.  Raunham. 

"  He  parted  from  me  at  the  steps  of  my  porch,  and  went 
back  towards  the  rectory.  Whilst  I  still  stood  at  the  door, 
musing  on  my  strange  deliverance,  1  saw  a  figure  advance 
from  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  park  trees.  It  was  the 
figure  of  a  woman. 

"  VVhen  she  came  near,  the  twilight  y/as  sufficient  to  show 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  383 

me  her  attire ;  it  was  a  cloak  reacliing  to  the  bottom  of  her 
dress,  and  a  thick  veil  covering  her  face.  These  features, 
together  with  her  size  and  gait,  aided  also  by  a  flash  of  per- 
ception as  to  the  chain  of  events  which  had  saved  her  life, 
told  me  that  she  was  my  wife  Eunice. 

"  I  gnashed  my  teeth  in  a  frenzy  of  despair ;  I  had  lost 
Cytherea ;  1  had  gained  one  whose  beauty  had  departed, 
whose  utterance  was  complaint,  whose  mind  was  shallow, 
and  who  drank  brandy  every  day.  The  revulsion  of  feeling 
was  terrible.  Providence,  whom  I  had  just  thanked,  seemed 
a  mocking  tormentor  laughing  at  me.     1  felt  like  a  madman. 

"  She  came  close — started  at  seeing  me  outside — then 
spoke  to  me.  Her  first  words  were  reproof  for  what  1  had 
unintentionally  done,  and  sounded  as  an  earnest  of  what  I 
was  to  be  cursed  with  as  long  as  we  both  lived.  I  answered 
angrily  ;  this  tone  of  mine  changed  her  complaints  to  irrita- 
tion. She  taunted  me  with  a  secret  she  had  discovered, 
which  concerned  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  myself  I  was  sur- 
prised to  learn  it — more  surprised  that  she  knew  it,  but  con- 
cealed my  feelings. 

" '  How  could  you  serve  me  so  ? '  she  said,  her  breath 
smelling  of  brandy  even  then.  '  You  love  another  woman — 
yes,  you  do.  See  how  you  drive  me  about !  I  have  been 
to  the  station,  intending  to  leave  you  forever,  and  yet  I 
Come  to  try  you  once  more.' 

"An  indescribable  exasperation  had  sprung  up  in  me  as 
she  talked — rage  and  regret  were  all  in  all.  Scarcely  know- 
ing what  I  did,  I  furiously  raised  my  hand  and  swung  it  round 
with  my  whole  force  to  strike  her.  She  turned  quickly — 
and  it  was  the  poor  creature's  end.  By  her  movement  my 
hand  came  edgewise  exactly  in  the  nape  of  her  neck — as 
men  strike  a  hare  to  kill  it.  The  effect  staggered  me  with 
amazement.  The  blow  must  have  disturbed  the  vertebrae, 
she  fell  at  my  feet,  made  a  few  movements,  and  uttered  one 
low  sound. 

"  I  ran  indoors  for  water  and  some  wine  ;  I  came  out  and 
lanced  her  arm  with  my  penknife.  But  she  lay  still,  and 
1  found  that  she  was  dead. 

"  Here  1  emphatically  and  solemnly  state  that  her  death 
by  my  hand  was  utterly  unintentional  and  unexpected.  In 
my  rage  I  was  impelled  to  strike  her  ;  the  only  thing  I  anti- 


384 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


ci'pated,  if  anything,  was  that  she  would  be  made  to  cease 
her  arrogance  thereby. 

"It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  realize  my  horrible 
position. 

"  For  several  minutes  I  had  no  idea  of  attempting  to 
escape  the  consequences  of  my  deed.  Then  a  light  broke 
upon  me.  Had  anybody  seen  her  since  she  left  the  Three 
Tranters  ?  Had  they  not,  she  was  already  believed  by  the 
parishioners  to  be  dust  and  ashes.  I  should  never  be  found 
out. 

"  Upon  this  I  acted. 

"The  first  question  was  how  to  dispose  of  the  body. 
The  impulse  of  the  moment  was  to  bury  her  at  once  in  the 
pit  between  the  engine-house  and  waterfall ;  but  it  struck 
ine  that  I  should  not  have  time.  It  was  now  four  o'clock, 
and  the  working-men  would  soon  be  stirring  about  the  j^lace. 
I  would  put  off  burying  her  till  the  next  night.  I  carried 
her  indoors. 

"  In  turning  the  outhouse  into  a  workshop,  earlier  in  the 
season,  I  found,  when  driving  a  nail  into  the  wall  for  fixing 
a  cupboard,  that  the  wall  sounded  hollow.  I  examined  it 
and  discovered  behind  the  plaster  an  old  oven  which  had 
long  been  disused,  and  was  bricked  up  when  the  house  was 
prepared  for  me. 

"  To  unfix  this  cupboard  and  pull  out  the  bricks  was  the 
work  of  a  few  minutes.  Then  bearing  in  mind  that  I  should 
have  to  remove  the  body  again  the  next  night,  I  placed  it 
in  a  sack,  pushed  it  into  the  oven,  packed  in  the  bricks,  and 
replaced  the  cui)board. 

"I  then  went  to  bed. 

"'In  bed,  I  thought  whether  there  were  any  very  remote 
possibilities  that  might  lead  to  the  supposition  that  my  wife 
v/as  not  consumed  by  the  flames  of  the  burning  house.  The 
thing  which  struck  me  most  forcibly  was  this,  that  the 
searchers  might  think  it  odd  that  no  remains  whatever  should 
be  found. 

The  clinching  and  triumphant  deed  would  be  to  take  the 
body  and  ])lace  it  among  the  ruins  of  the  destroyed  house. 
But  I  could  not  do  this,  on  account  of  the  men  who  were 
watching  against  an  outbreak  of  the  fire.  One  remedy  re 
fiiained. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


38S 


"  I  arose  again,  dressed  myself,  and  went  down  to  the 
outhouse.  I  must  take  down  the  cupboard  again.  I  did 
take  it  dovVn.  I  pulled  out  the  bricks,  pulled  out  the  sack, 
pulled  out  the  corpse,  and  took  her  keys  from  her  pocket 
and  the  watch  from  her  side. 

"  I  then  replaced  everything  as  before. 

"  With  these  articles  in  my  i)ocket  I  went  out  of  the  yard, 
and  took  my  way  through  the  withy  copse  to  the  churchyard, 
entering  it  from  the  back.  Here  I  felt  my  way  carefully 
along  till  I  came  to  the  nook  where  ])ieces  of  bones  from 
newly  dug  graves  are  sometimes  piled  behind  the  laurel 
bushes.  I  had  been  earnestly  hoping  to  find  a  skull  among 
these  old  bones ;  but  though  I  had  frequently  seen  one  or 
two  in  the  rubbish  here,  there  was  not  one  now.  I  then 
groped  in  the  other  corner  with  the  same  result — nowhere 
could  I  find  a  skull.  Three  or  four  fiagments  of  leg  and 
back-bones  were  all  I  could  collect,  and  with  these  I  was 
forced  to  be  content. 

"  Taking  them  in  my  hand,  I  crossed  the  road,  and  got 
round  behind  the  inn,  where  the  couch-heap  was  still 
smouldering.  Keeping  behind  the  hedge,  I  could  see  the 
heads  of  the  three  or  four  men  who  watched  tlie  spot. 

"  Standing  in  this  place  1  took  the  bones,  and  threw  them 
one  by  one  over  the  hedge  and  over  the  men's  heads  into 
the  smoking  embers.  When  the  bones  had  all  been  thrown, 
1  threw  the  keys  ;  last  of  all  I  threw  the  watch. 

"  I  then  returned  home  as  I  had  gone,  and  went  to  bed 
once  more,  just  as  the  dawn  began  to  break.  I  exulted^ 
'  Cyth^rea  is  mine  again  ! ' 

"  At  breakfast-time  I  thought,  *  Suppose  the  cupboard 
should  by  some  unlikely  chance  get  moved  to-day  ! ' 

"  I  went  to  the  mason's  yard  hard  by,  while  the  men  were 
at  breakfast,  and  brought  away  a  shovel-full  of  mortar.  I 
took  it  into  the  outhouse,  again  shifted  the  cupboard,  and 
plastered  over  the  mouth  of  the  oven  behind.  Simply 
pushing  the  cupboard  back  into  its  place,  I  waited  for  the 
next  night  that  I  might  bury  the  body,  though  upon  the 
whole  it  was  in  a  tolerably  safe  hiding-place. 

"When  tlie  night  came,  my  nerves  were  in  some  way 
weaker  than  they  had  been  on  the  previous  night.  I  felt  re- 
luctant to  touch  the  body.     I  went  to  the  outhouse,  but  in« 


386  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

Stead  of  opening  the  oven,  I  firmly  drove  in  the  shoulder- 
nails  that  held  the  cupboard  to  the  wall.  '  I  will  bury  .her 
to-mcrrow-night,  however,'  I  thought. 

"But  the  next  night  1  was  still  more  reluctant  to  touch 
her.  And  my  reluctance  increased,  and  there  the  body  re- 
mained. The  oven  was,  after  all,  never  likely  to  be  opened 
in  my  time. 

"  I  married  Cytherea  Graye,  and  never  did  a  bridegroom 
leave  the  church  with  a  heart  more  full  of  love  and  happiness, 
and  a  brain  more  fixed  on  good  intentions,  than  1  did  on 
that  morning.. 

"When  Cytherea's  brother  made  his  appearance  at  the 
hotel  in  Southampton,  bearing  his  strange  evidence  of  the 
porter's  disclosure,  1  was  staggered  beyond  expression.  I 
thought  they  had  found  the  body.  'Am  1  to  be  apprehended 
and  to  lose  her  even  now  ? '  I  mourned.  I  saw  my  error, 
and  instantly  saw,  too,  that  I  must  act  externally  like  an 
honorable  man. 

"  So  at  his  request  I  yielded  her  up  to  him,  and  meditated 
on  several  schemes  for  enabling  me  to  claim  the  woman  I 
had  a  legal  right  to  claim  as  my  wife,  without  disclosing  the 
reason  why  I  knew  myself  to  have  it. 

"  I  went  home  to  Knapwater  the  next  day,  and  for  nearly 
a  week  lived  in  a  state  of  indecision.  I  could  not  hit  upon 
a  scheme  for  proving  my  wife  dead  without  compromising 
myself. 

"  Mr.  Raunham  hinted  that  I  should  take  steps  to  discover 
her  whereabouts  by  advertising.  I  had  no  energy  for  the 
farce. 

"  But  one  evening  I  chanced  to  enter  the  Travellers'  Rest 
Inn. 

"  Two  notorious  poachers  were  sitting  in  the  settle,  which 
screened  my  entrance.  They  were  half-drunk — their  con- 
versation was  carried  on  in  the  solemn  and  emphatic  tone 
common  to  that  stage  of  intoxication,  and  I  myself  was  the 
subject  of  it. 

"The  following  was  the  substance  of  their  disjointed 
remarks. 

"  On  the  night  of  the  great  fire  at  Carriford,  one  of  them 
was  sent  to  meet  me,  and  break  the  news  of  the  death  of  my 
wife  to  me.     This  he  did ;  but  because  I  would  not  pay  him 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  387 

for  his  news,  he  left  me  in  a  mood  of  vindictiveness.  When 
the  fire  was  over,  he  joined  his  comrade.  The  fa^■orable 
hour  of  the  night  suggested  to  them  the  jiossibility  of  some 
unlawful  gain  before  daylight  came.  My  fowl-house  stood 
in  a  tempting  position,  and  still  resenting  his  repulse  during 
the  evening,  one  of  them  proposed  to  operate  upon  my  birds. 
I  was  believed  to  have  gone  to  the  rectory  with  Mr.  Raun- 
ham.  The  other  was  disinclined  to  go,  and  the  first  went 
off  alone. 

"  It  was  now  about  three  o'clock.  He  had  advanced  as 
far  as  the  shrubbery,  v/hich  grows  near  the  north  wall  of  the 
house,  when  he  fancied  he  heard,  above  the  rush  of  the 
waterfall,  noises  on  the  other  side  of  the  building.  He  de- 
scribed them  in  these  words,  '  Ghostly  mouths  talking — then 
a  fall — then  a  groan — then  the  rush  of  the  water  and  creak 
of  the  engine  as  before.'  Only  one  explanation  occurred  to 
him  :  the  house  was  haunted.  And,  whether  those  of  the 
living  or  the  dead,  voices  of  any  kind  were  inimical  to  one 
who  had  come  on  such  an  errand.     He  stealthily  crept  home. 

"His  unlawful  purpose  in  being  behind  the  house  led  him 
to  conceal  his  adventure.  No  suspicion  of  the  truth  entered 
his  mind  till  the  railway  porter  had  startled  everybody  by  his 
strange  announcement.  Then  he  asked  himself,  had  the 
horrifying  sounds  of  that  night  been  really  an  enactment  in 
the  flesh  between  me  and  my  wife  ? 

"  The  words  of  the  other  man  were, — 

"  'Why  don't  he  try  to  find  her  if  she's  alive  ? ' 

"  '  True,'  said  the  first.  '  Well,  I  don't  forget  what  I  heard, 
and  if  she  don't  turn  up  alive  my  mind  will  be  as  sure  as  a 
Bible  upon  her  murder,  and  the  parson  shall  know  it,  though 
I  do  get  six  months  on  the  treadmill  for  being  where  I  was.' 

"  '  And  if  she  should  turn  up  alive  ? ' 

" '  Then  I  shall  know  that  I  am  wrong,  and  believing  my- 
self a  fool  as  well  as  a  rogue,  hold  my  tongue.' 

"  I  glided  out  of  the  house  in  a  cold  sweat.  The  only 
pressure  in  heaven  or  earth  which  could  have  forced  me  to 
renounce  Cytherea  was  now  put  upon  me — the  dread  of  a 
death  upon  the  gallows. 

"  I  sat  all  that  night  weaving  strategy  of  various  kinds. 
The  only  effectual  remedy  for  my  hazardous  standing  that  I 
could  see,  was  a  simple  one.     It  was  to  substitute  another 


388 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


woman  for  rny  wife  befoie  the  suspicions  ot  that  one  easily, 
hoodwinked  man  extended  further. 

"  Tlae  only  difficulty  was  to  find  a  practicable  substitute. 

"  The  one  woman  at  all  available  for  the  purpose  -vvas  a 
friendless,  innocent  creature,  named  Anne  Seaway,  whom  I 
had  known  in  my  youth,  and  who  had  for  some  time  been 
the  housekeeper  of  a  lady  in  London.  On  account  of  this 
lady's  sudden  death,  Anne  stood  in  rather  a  precarious  po- 
sition, as  regarded  her  future  subsistence.  She  was  not  the 
best  kind  of  woman  for  the  scheme;  but  there  was  no  al- 
ternative. One  quality  of  hers  was  valuable  :  she  was  not 
a  talker.  I  went  to  London  the  very  next  day,  called  at  the 
Hoxton  lodging  of  my  wife  (the  only  place  at  which  she  had 
been  known  as  Mrs.  Mansion),  and  found  that  no  great  diffi- 
culties stood  in  the  way  of  a  personation.  And  thus  favor- 
ing circumstances  determined  my  course.  I  visited  Anne 
Seaway,  made  love  to  her,  and  propounded  my  plan. 

"  We  lived  quietly  enough  until  the  Sunday  before  my  ap- 
prehension. Anne  came  home  from  church  that  morning, 
and  told  me  of  the  suspicious  way  in  which  a  young  man  had 
looked  at  her  there.  Nothing  could  be  done  beyond  waiting 
the  issue  of  events.  Then  the  letter  came  from  Raunham. 
For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  balf-indiffcrent  as  to  what 
fate  awaited  me.  During  the  succeeding  day  I  thought  once 
or  twice  of  running  away,  but  could  not  quite  make  up  my 
mind.  At  any  rate  it  would  be  best  to  bury  the  body  of  my 
wife,  I  thought,  for  the  oven  might  be  opened  at  any  time.  I 
went  to  P>oominster  and  made  some  arrangements.  In  the 
evening  Miss  Aldclyffe  (who  is  united  to  me  by  a  common 
secret  which  I  have  no  right  or  wish  to  disclose)  came  to  my 
house,  and  alarmed  me  still  more.  She  said  that  she  could 
tell  by  Mr.  Raunham' s  manner  that  evening,  that  he  kept 
back  from  her  a  susi)icion  of  more  importance  even  than  the 
one  he  spoke  of,  and  that  strangers  were  in  his  house  even 
then. 

"  I  guessed  what  this  further  suspicion  was,  and  resolved 
to  enlighten  her  to  a  certain  extent,  and  so  secure  her  assist- 
ance. I  said  that  I  killed  my  wife  by  an  accident  on  the 
night  of  the  fire,  dwelling  upon  the  advantage  to  her  of  the 
death  of  the  only  woman  who  knew.hei  secret. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  389 

"  Her  terror,  and  fears  for  my  fate,  led  hei  to  watch  the 
rectory  that  evening.  She  saw  the  detective  leave  it,  and 
followed  him  to  my  residence.  This  she  told  me  hurriedly 
when  1  perceived  her  after  digging  my  wife's  grave  in  the 
plantation.     She  did  not  suspect  what  the  sack  contained. 

"  I  am  now  about  to  pass  into  my  normal  condition.  For 
people  are  almost  always  in  their  graves.  When  we  survey 
the  long  race  of  men,  it  is  strange  and  still  more  strange  to 
find  that  they  are  mainly  dead  men,  who  have  scarcely  ever 
been  otherwise.  ^neas  Manston." 

The  steward's  confession,  aided  by  circumstantial  evidence 
of  various  kinds,  was  the  means  of  freeing  both  Anne  Sea- 
way and  Miss  Aldclyffe  from  all  suspicion  of  complicity  in 
the  manslaughter. 


§  2.  Six  d clock  p.  m. 

It  was  evening — just  at  sunset — on  the  day  of  Manston's 
death. 

In  the  little  cottage  at  Palchurch  was  gathered  a  group 
consisting  of  Cytherea,  her  brother,  Edward  Springrove,  and 
his  father.  They  sat  by  the  window  conversing  of  the  strange 
events  which  had  just  taken  place.  In  Cytherea's  eye  there 
beamed  a  hopeful  ray,  though  her  face  was  as  white  as  a 
lily. 

Whilst  they  talked,  looking  out  at  the  yellow  evening  light 
that  coated  the  hedges,  trees,  and  church  tower,  a  brougham 
rolled  round  the  corner  of  the  lane,  and  came  in  full  view. 
It  reflected  the  rays  of  the  sun  in  a  flash  from  its  polished 
panels  as  it  turned  the  angle,  the  spokes  of  the  wheels  brist- 
ling in  the  same  light  like  bayonets.  The  vehicle  came 
nearer,  and  arrived  opposite  Owen's  door,  when  the  drivei 
])ulled  the  rein  and  gave  a  shout,  and  the  panting  and  sweat- 
ing .horses  stopped. 

"  Miss  Aldclyffe's  carriage  ! "  they  all  exclaimed. 

Owen  went  out.  "Is  Miss  Graye  at  home?"  said  the 
man.     "  A  note  for  her,  and  I  am  to  wait  for  an  answer." 

Cytherea  read  in  the  handwriting  of  the  rector  of  Carri 
ford  :— 


390 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


"  Dear  Miss  Grave, 

"  Miss  Aldclyffe  is  ill,  though  not  dangerously.  She 
continually  repeats  your  name,  and  now  wishes  very  much  to 
see  you.     If  you  possibly  can,  come  in  the  carriage. 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

*'  John  Raunham." 

"  How  comes  she  ill  ? "  Owen  inquired  of  the  coach- 
man. 

"  She  caught  a  violent  cold  by  standing  out  of  doors  in 
the  damp  on  the  night  the  steward  ran  away.  Ever  since, 
till  this  morning,  she  complained  of  fulness  and  heat  in  the 
chest.  This  morning  the  maid  ran  in  and  told  her  suddenly 
that  Mansion  had  killed  himself  in  gaol — she  shrieked — 
broke  a  blood-vessel — and  fell  upon  the  floor.  Severe  in- 
ternal hemorrhage  continued  for  some  time  and  then 
stopped.  They  say  she  is  sure  to  get  over  it :  but  she  her- 
self says  no.     She  has  suffered  from  it  before." 

Cytherea  was  ready  in  a  few  moments,  and  entered  the 
carriage. 

§  3.  Seven  d clock  p.  m. 

Soft  as  was  Cytherea' s  motion  along  the  corridors  of 
Knapwater  House,  the  preternaturally  keen  intelligence  of 
the  suffering  woman  caught  the  maiden's  well-known  footfall. 
She  entered  the  chamber  with  suspended  breath. 

In  the  room  everything  was  so  still,  and  sensation  was  as 
it  were  so  rarefied  by  solicitude,  that  thinking  seemed  act- 
ing, and  the  lady's  weak  act  of  trying  to  live  a  silent  wrest- 
ling with  all  the  powers  of  the  universe.  Nobody  was  pres- 
ent but  Mr.  Raunham,  the  nurse  having  left  the  room  on 
Cytherea's  entry,  and  the  physician  and  surgeon  being  en- 
gaged in  a  whispered  conversation  in  aside  chamber.  Their 
patient  had  been  pronounced  out  of  danger. 

Cytherea  went  to  the  bedside,  and  was  instantly  recog- 
nized. O  what  a  change — Miss  Aldclyffe  dependent  upon 
pillows  1  And  yet  not  a  forbidding  change.  With  weakness 
had  come  softness  of  aspect :  the  haughtiness  was  extracted 
from  the  frail  thin  counienance,  and  a  sweeter  mild  placidity 
had  taken  its  place. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


391 


Miss  AldclyfFe  signified  to  Mr.  Raunham  that  she  would 
like  to  be  alone  with  Cytherea. 

"Cytherea?"  she  faintly  whispered,  the  instant  the  door 
was  closed. 

Cytherea  clasped  the  lady's  weak  hand,  and  sank  beside 
her. 

Miss  AldclyfFe  whispered  again.  "They  say  I  am  certain 
to  live  ;  but  I  know  that  I  am  certainly  going  to  die." 

"They  know,  I  think,  and  hope." 

"I  know  best,  but  we'll  leave  that.  Cytherea — O  Cy- 
therea, can  you  forgive  me  !  " 

Her  companion  i)ressed  her  hand. 

"  But  you  don't  know  yet — you  don't  know  yet,"  the  in 
valid  murmured.      "  It  is  forgiveness  for  that  misrepresenta 
tion  to  Edward  Springrove  that  I  implore,  and  for  putting 
such  force  upon  him — that  which  caused  all  the  train  of 
your  innumerable  ills  !  " 

"  I  know  all — all.  And  I  do  forgive  you.  Not  in  a 
hasty  impulse  that  is  revoked  when  coolness  comes,  but  de- 
liberately and  sincerely : — as  I  myself  hope  to  be  forgiven,  I 
accord  you  my  forgiveness  now." 

Tears  streamed  from  Miss  Aldclyffe's  eyes,  and  mingled 
with  those  of  her  young  companion,  who  could  not  restrain 
hers  for  sympathy.  Expressions  of  strong  attachment,  inter- 
rupted by  emotion,  burst  again  and  again  from  the  broken- 
spirited  woman. 

"But  you  don't  know  my  motive.  O,  if  you  only  knew 
it,  how  you  would  pity  me  then  !  " 

Cytherea  did  not  break  the  pause  which  ensued,  and  the 
elder  woman  appeared  now  to  nerve  herself  by  a  super- 
human effort.  She  spoke  on  in  a  voice  weak  as  a  summer 
breeze,  and  full  of  intermission,  and  yet  there  pervaded  it  a 
steadiness  of  intention  that  seemed  to  demand  lirm  tones  tc 
bear  it  out  worthily. 

"Cytherea,"  she  said,  "listen  to  me  before  I  die." 

"  A  long  time  ago — more  than  thirty  years  ago — a  young 
girl  of  seventeen  was  decoyed  into  a  secret  marriage  with 
a  man  she  desperately  loved,  and  whom  she  used  to  meet 
by  stealth.  He  professed  to  be  an  officer  in  the  line.  Two 
days  after  the  marriage,  the  dreadful  fact  transpired  that  he 
was  an  escaped  convict  who  had  been  undergoing  sentenec 


392 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


for  forging  a  will.  He  fled  to  Canada,  and  was  shot  in  re« 
sisting  his  recapture. 

"She  liad  never  assumed  her  married  name,  and,  upon 
confessing  to  her  parents,  it  was  resolved  that  she  should 
not  assume  it  now.  The  whole  wild  transaction  was  to  be 
kept  silent  as  the  grave,  because  of  the  tremendous  disgrace 
such  a  union  would  bring  upon  her  family  if  the  world  got 
to  know  of  it. 

"One  night  when  that  miserable  child-widow  had  just 
arrived  home  from  Germany  with  her  parents,  she  took  all 
the  money  she  possessed,  pinned  it  on  an  infant's  bosom,  to- 
gether with  a  letter,  stating  among  other  things  what  she 
wished  the  child's  Christian  name  to  be ;  wrapped  up  the 
little  thing,  and  walked  with  it  to  Clapham.  Here  in  a  re- 
tired street  she  selected  a  house.  She  placed  the  child  on 
the  doorstep  and  knocked  at  the  door,  then  ran  away  and 
watched.     They  took  it  up  and  carried  it  indoors. 

"  Now  that  her  poor  baby  was  gone,  the  girl  blamed  her- 
self bitterly  for  cruelty  towards  it,  and  wished  she  had 
adopted  her  parents'  counsel  to  secretly  hire  a  nurse.  She 
longed  to  see  it.  She  didn't  know  what  to  do.  She  wrote 
in  an  assumed  name  to  the  woman  who  had  taken  it  in,  and 
asked  her  to  meet  the  writer  with  the  infant,  at  certain 
places  she  named.  These  were  hotels  or  coffee-houses  in 
Chelsea,  Pimlico,  or  Hammersmith.  The  woman,  being 
well  paid,  always  came,  and  asked  no  questions.  At  one 
meeting — at  an  inn  in  Hammersmith — she  made  her  ap- 
pearance without  the  child,  and  told  the  girl  it  was  so  ill 
that  it  would  not  live  through  the  night.  The  news,  and 
fatigue,  brought  on  a  fainting  fit " 

Miss  Aldclyffe's  sobs  choked  her  utterance,  and  she  be- 
came painfully  agitated.  Cytherea,  pale  and  amazed  at 
what  she  heard,  wept  for  her,  bent  over  her,  and  begged  her 
not  to  go  on  speaking. 

"Yes — I  must,"  she  cried  between  her  sobs.  "  I  will — I 
must  go  on !  And  I  must  tell  yet  more  plainly!  .  .  .  you 
must  hear  it  before  I  am  gone,  Cytherea."  Tlie  sympathiz- 
ing and  astonished  girl  sat  down  again. 

"  The  name  of  the  woman  who  had  taken  the  child  was 
Mansion.  She  was  the  widow  of  a  schoolmaster.  She  said 
she  had  adopted  the  child  of  a  relation. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


393 


"Only  one  man  ever  found  out  who  the  mother  was.  He 
was  the  keeper  of  the  inn  in  which  she  fainted,  and  his 
silence  she  has  purchased  ever  since. 

"  A  twelvemonth  passed — fifteen  months — and  the  sad- 
dened girl  met  a  man  at  her  father's  house.  Ah,  such  a 
man  1  Inexperience  now  perceived  what  it  was  to  be  loved 
in  spirit  and  in  truth !  But  it  was  too  late.  Had  he  known 
her  secret  he  would  have  cast  her  out.  She  withdrew  from 
him  by  an  etfort,  and  pined. 

"Years  and  years  afterwards,  when  she  became  mistress 
of  a  fortune  and  estates  by  her  father's  death,  she  formed 
the  weak  scheme  of  having  near  the  son  whom,  in  her 
father's  life  time,  she  had  been  forbidden  to  recognize.  Cy- 
therea,  ycni  know  who  that  weak  woman  is  ! 

^  H<  H<  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

*'  By  such  toilsome  labor  as  this  I  got  him  here  as  m) 
steward.     And  1  wanted  to  see  him  your  husband ^  Cytherea  ! 

It  was  a  sweet  dream  to  me Pity  me — O  pity  me  ! 

To  die  unloved  is  more  than  I  can  bear !  I  loved  your 
father,  and  I  love  him  now," 

That  was  the  burden  of  Cytherea  Aldclyffe — for  so  we  will 
continue  to  call  her,  her  husband's  name  having  nothing  to 
do  with  this  history. 

•'  I  suppose  you  must  leave  me  again — you  always  leave 
me,"  she  said,  after  holding  the  young  woman's  hand  a  long 
while  in  silence. 

"  No — indeed  I'll  stay  always.     Do  you  like  me  to  stay  ?  " 

Miss  Aldclyffe  in  the  jaws  of  death  was  Miss  Aldclyffe 
still,  though  the  old  fire  had  degenerated  to  mere  phos- 
phorescence now.  "But  you  are  your  brother's  house- 
keeper ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  of  course  you  cannot  stay  with  me  on  a  sudden 

like  this Go  home,  or  he  will  be  at  a  loss  for  things. 

And  to-morrow  morning  come  again,  won't  you  dearest, 
come  again — we'll  fetch  you.  But  you  mustn't  stay  now, 
and  jjut  Owen  out.  O  no — it  would  be  absurd."  The  ab- 
sorbing concern  about  trifles  of  daily  routine,  which  is  so 
often  seen  in  very  sick  people,  was  present  here. 

Cytherea  promised  to  go  home,  and  come  the  next  morn- 
ing to  stay  continuously. 


394  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"Stay  till  I  die  then,  will  you  not?  Yes  till  1  die— I 
shan't  die  till  to-morrow." 

*'  We  hope  for  your  recovery — all  of  us," 
"  I  know  best.     Come  at  six  o'clock,  darHng." 
"As  soon  as  ever  I  can,"  returned  Cytherea,  tenderly 
"  But  six  is  too  early — you  will  have    to    think  of  your 
brother's  breakfast.     Leave  Palchurch  at  eight,  will  you  ?  " 

Cytherea  consented  to  this.  Miss  Aldclyffe  would  never 
have  known  had  her  companion  stayed  in  the  house  all  night, 
but  the  honesty  of  Cytherea's  nature  repelled  against  even 
the  friendly  deceit  which  such  a  proceeding  would  have  in- 
vol  ved. 

An  arrangement  was  come  to  whereby  she  was  to  be  takea 
home  in  the  pony-carriage  instead  of  the  brougham  that 
fetched  her.  The  carriage  to  put  up  at  Palchurch  farm  for 
tlie  night,  and  on  that  account  be  in  readiness  to  bring  her 
back  earlier. 

§  4.  March  the  thirtieth.     Daybreak. 

The  third  and  last  instance  of  Cytherea's  subjection  to 
those  periodic  terrors  of  the  night  which  had  emphasized  her 
connection  with  the  Aldclyffe  name  and  blood,  transpired  at 
the  present  date. 

It  was  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Cytherea, 
though  most  probably  dreaming,  seemed  to  awake, — and  in- 
stantly was  transfixed  by  a  sort  of  spell,  that  had  in  it  more 
of  awe  than  of  affright.  At  the  foot  of  her  bed,  looking  her 
in  the  face  with  an  expression  of  entreaty  beyond  the  power 
of  words  to  portray,  was  the  form  of  Miss  Aldclyffe — wan 
and  distinct.  No  motion  was  perceptible  in  her ;  but  long- 
ing— earnest  longing — was  written  in  every  feature. 

Cytherea  believed  she  exercised  her  waking  judgment  as 
usual  in  thinking,  without  a  shadow  of  doubt,  that  Miss  Ald- 
clyfle  stood  before  her  in  flesh  and  blood.  Reason  was  not 
sufficiently  alert  to  lead  Cytherea  to  ask  herself  how  such  a 
thing  could  have  occurred. 

"  I  would  have  remained  with  you, — why  would  you  not 
allow  me  to  !  "  Cytherea  exclaimed.  The  spell  was  broken  : 
she  became  broadly  awake  ;  and  the  figure  vanished. 

It  was  in  the  gray  time  of  dawn.     She  trembled  in  a  sweat 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  395 

of  dis(juiet,  and  not  being  able  to  endure  the  thought  of  her 
brother  being  asleep,  she  went  and  tapped  at  his  door. 

"  Owen  ! " 

He  was  not  a  heavy  sleeper,  and  it  was  verging  upon  his 
time  to  rise. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Cytherea  ?  " 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  left  Knapwater  last  night.  I  wish  I 
had  not.  I  really  think  I  will  start  at  once.  She  wants  nie, 
I  know." 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  few  minutes  past  four." 

"  You  had  better  not.  Keep  to  the  time  agreed  upon. 
Consider,  we  should  have  such  a  trouble  in  rousing  the  driver, 
and  other  things." 

Upon  the  whole  it  seemed  wiser  not  to  act  on  a  mere 
fancy.     She  went  to  bed  again. 

An  hour  later,  when  Owen  was  thinking  of  getting  up  a 
knocking  came  to  the  front  door.  The  next  minute  some- 
thing touched  the  glass  of  Owen's  window.  He  waited — 
the  noise  was  repeated.  A  little  gravel  had  been  thrown 
against  it  to  arouse  him. 

He  crossed  the  room,  pulled  up  the  blind,  and  looked  out. 
A  solemn  white  face  was  gazing  upwards  from  the  road,  ex- 
pectantly straining  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  a  person 
within  the  panes.  It  was  the  face  of  a  Knapwater  man,  sit- 
ting on  horseback. 

Owen  saw  his  errand.  There  is  an  unmistakable  look  in 
the  face  of  every  man  whD  brings  tidings  of  death.  Graye 
opened  the  window. 

"  Miss  Aldclyffe ,"    said   the   messenger,    and 

paused. 

"  Ah ;  and  is  she  dead  ?  " 

"Yes — she  is  dead." 

"When  did  she  die?" 

"At  ten  minutes  past  four,  after  another  effusion.  She 
knew  best,  you  see,  sir.  I  started  directly,  by  the  rector** 
orders." 


EPILOGUE. 


FIFTEEN  months  have  passed,  and  we  are  brought  on 
to  midsummer  night,  one  tliousand  eight  hundred  and 
sixty-seven. 

The  picture  presented  is  the  interior  of  the  old  belfry  of 
Carriford  Church,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

Eight  Carriford  men  and  one  stranger  are  gathered  there, 
beneath  the  light  of  a  flaring  candle  stuck  on  a  piece  of  wood 
against  the  wall.  The  eight  Carriford  men  are  the  well- 
known  ringers  of  the  eight  fine-toned  old  bells  in  the  key  of 
F,  which  have  been  music  to  the  ears  of  Carriford  parish 
and  the  outlying  districts  for  the  last  four  hundred  years. 
The  stranger  is  an  assistant,  who  has  appeared  from  nobody 
knows  where. 

The  eight  natives — in  their  shirt-sleeves,  and  without  hats 
— pull  and  catch  frantically  at  the  dancing  bell-ropes,  the 
locks  of  their  hair  waving  in  the  breeze  created  by  their 
quick  motions :  the  stranger,  who  has  the  treble  bell,  does 
likewise,  but  in  his  right  mind  and  coat.  Their  ever-chang- 
ing shadows  mingle  on  the  wall  in  an  endless  variety  of  ka- 
leidoscopic forms,  and  the  eyes  of  all  the  nine  are  religiously 
fixed  on  a  diagram  like  a  large  addition  sum,  which  is  chalked 
on  the  floor. 

Vividly  contrasting  with  the  yellow  light  cf  the  candle 
upon  the  four  unplastered  walls  of  the  tower,  and  upon  the 
faces  and  clothes  of  the  men,  is  the  scene  discernible  through 
the  screen  beneath  the  tower  archway.  At  the  extremity  of 
the  long  mysterious  avenue  of  the  nave  and  chancel  can  be 
seen  shafts  of  moonlight  streaming  in  at  the  east  window  of 
the  church — blue,  phosphoric,  and  ghostly 

A  thorough  renovation  of  the  bell-ringing  machinery  and 
accessories  had  taken  place  in  anticipation  of  an  interesting 


DESPERA  TE  REMEDIES. 


397 


event.  New  ropes  had  been  provided  ;  every  bell  had  been 
carefully  shifted  from  its  carriage,  and  the  pivots  lubricated. 
Bright  red  "  saUies  "  of  woollen  texture — soft  to  the  hands 
and  easily  caught — glowed  on  the  ropes  in  place  of  the  old 
ragged  knots,  all  of  which  newness  in  small  details  only  ren- 
dered more  evident  the  irrepressible  aspect  of  age  in  the 
mass  surrounding  them. 

The  triple-bob-major  was  ended,  and  the  ringers  wiped 
their  faces  and  rolled  down  their  shirt-sleeves,  previously  to 
tucking  away  the  ropes  and  leaving  the  place  for  the  night. 

"  Piph — h — h — h  !  A  good  twenty  minutes,"  said  a  man 
with  a  streaming  face,  and  blowing  out  his  breath — one  of 
the  pair  who  had  taken  the  tenor  bell. 

"  Our  friend  here  pulled  proper  well — that  'a  did — seen 
he's  but  a  stranger,"  said  Clerk  Crickett,  who  had  just  re- 
signed the  second  rope,  and  addressing  the  man  in  the  black 
coat. 

"  'A  did,"  said  the  rest. 

"  I  enjoyed  it  much,"  said  the  man,  modestly. 

"What  we  should  ha'  done  'ithout  ye,  words  can't  tell. 
The  man  that  d' belong  by  rights  to  that  there  bell  is  ill  o' 
two  gallons  o'  wold  cider." 

"  And  now  so's,"  remarked  the  fifth  ringer,  as  pertaining 
to  the  last  allusion,  "we'll  finish  this  drop  o'  metheglin  and 
cider,  and  every  man  home  along  straight  as  a  line." 

"  Wi'  all  my  heart,"  Clerk  Crickett  replied.  "And  the 
Lord  send  if  I  ha' n't  done  my  duty  by  Master  Teddy  Spring- 
rove — that  I  have  so." 

"  And  the  rest  o'  us,"  they  said,  as  the  cup  was  handed 
round. 

"  Ay,  ay — in  ringen — but  I  was  spaken  in  a  spiritual  sense 
o'  this  mornen's  business  o'  mine  up  by  the  chancel  rails 
there.  'Twas  very  convenient  to  lug  her  here  and  marry  her 
instead  o'  doen  it  at  that  twopenny-halfpenny  town  o'  Cres'n. 
Very  convenient." 

"  Very.     There  was  a  little  fee  for  Master  Cricket." 

"Ah — well.  Money's  money — very  much  so, — very — I 
always  have  said  it.  But  'twas  a  pretty  sight  for  the  nation. 
'A  colored  up  like  any  maid;  that  'a  did." 

"  Well  enough  'a  mid  color  up.  'Tis  no  small  matter  for 
a  man  to  play  wi'  fire." 


398  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

"  Whatever  it  may  be  to  a  woman,"  said  the  clerk,  ab* 
sently. 

"  Thou'rt  thinken  o'  thy  wife,  clerk,"  said  Gad  Weedy. 
"She'll  play  wi'it  again  when  thou'st  get  mildewed." 

"Well — let  her,  God  bless  her;  for  I'm  but  a  poor  third 
man,  I.  The  Lord  have  mercy  uj^on  the  fourth  ....  Ay, 
Teddy's  got  his  own  at  last.  VVhat  little  white  ears  that 
maid  hev  to  be  sure  !  choose  your  wife  as  you'd  choose  your 
pig — a  small  ear  and  a  small  tale — that  was  always  my  joke 
when  I  was  a  merry  feller,  ah, — years  agone  now !  But 
Teddy's  got  her.  Poor  chap,  he  was  getten  as  thin  as  a  her- 
mit wi'  grief, — so  was  she." 

"  May  be  she'll  pick  up  again  now." 

"  True — 'tis  nater's  law,  which  no  man  shall  gainsay.  Ah, 
well  do  I  bear  in  mind  what  I  said  to  Pa'son  Raunham, 
about  thy  mother's  family  o'  seven,  Gad,  the  very  first  week 
of  his  comen  here,  when  I  was  just  in  my  prime.  *  And  how 
many  daughters  has  that  poor  Weedy  got,  clerk  ? ' "  he  says. 
'  Six,  sir,'  says  I,  '  and  every  one  of  'em  has  a  brother  ! ' 
'Poor  woman,'  says  he,  'a  dozen  children! — give  her  this 
half-sovereign  from  me,  clerk.'  'A  laughed  a  good  five  min- 
utes afterwards,  when  he  found  out  my  merry  nater — 'a  did. 
But  there,  'tis  over  wi'  me  now.  Enteren  the  Church  is  the 
ruin  of  a  man's  wit,  for  wit's  nothen  without  a  faint  shadder 
o'  sin." 

"If  so  be  Teddy  and  the  lady  had  been  kept  apart  for 
life,  they'd  both  ha'  died,"  said  Gad,  emphatically. 

"  It  went  proper  well,"  said  the  fifth  bell-ringer.  "  They 
didn't  flee  off  to  Babylonish  places — not  they."  He  struck 
up  an  attitude — "  Here's  Master  Siningrove  standen  so  : 
here's  the  married  woman  standen  likewise  :  here  theyd'walk 
across  to  Knapwater  House  :  and  there  they  d'bide  in  the 
chimley  corner,  hard  and  fast." 

"  Yes,  'twas  a  pretty  wedden,  and  well  attended,"  added 
the  clerk.  "  Here  was  my  lady  herself — red  as  scarlet :  here 
was  Master  Springrove,  looken  as  if  he  half-wished  he'd 
never  acome, — Ah,  toads  o'em  ! — the  men  always  do  !  The 
women  do  stand  it  best — the  maid  was  in  her  glory.  Though 
she  was  so  shy,  the  glory  shone  plain  through  that  shy  skin. 
Ah,  it  did  so's." 

"Ay,"  said  Gad,  "and  there  was  Tim  Tankins  and  hia 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 


399 


fine  journeyman  carpenters,  standen  tiptoe  and  peepen  in  at 
the  chancel  winders.  There  was  Dairyman  Dodman  waiten 
in  his  new  spring-cart  to  see  'em  come  out — whip  in  hand — 
that  'a  was.  Then  up  comes  two  master  tailors.  Then 
there  was  Christopher  Runt  wi'  his  pickaxe  and  shovel. 
There  was  wimmenfolk  and  there  was  menfolk  traypsen  up 
and  down  church'ard  till  they  wore  a  path  wi'  traypsen  so — 
letten  the  squallen  children  slip  down  through  their  arms  and 
nearly  skinnen  o'  em.  And  these  were  all  over  and  above 
the  gentry  and  Sunday-clothes  folk  inside.  Well,  I  sid  Mr. 
Graye  dressed  up  quite  the  dand.  '  Well  Mr.  Graye,'  says 
I,  from  the  top  o'  church'ard  wall,  'How's  yerself?'  Mr. 
Graye  never  spoke — he'd  dressed  away  his  hearen.  Seize 
the  man,  I  didn'  want  en  to  spak.  Teddy  hears  it,  and 
turns  round :  '  Right  Gad  ! '  says  he,  and  laughed  like  a 
boy.     There's  more  in  Teddy." 

"  Well,"  said  Clerk  Crickett,  turning  to  the  man  in  black, 
"now  you've  been  among  us  so  long,  and  d'knowus  so  well, 
won't  ye  tell  us  what  ye  d'come  here  for,  and  what  your 
trade  is  ?  " 

"  I  am  no  trade,"  said  the  thin  man,  smiling,  "  and  I  came 
to  see  the  wickedness  of  the  land." 

•'  I  said  thou  wast  one  o'  the  devil's  brood  wi'  thy  black 
clothes,"  replied  a  sturdy  ringer,  who  had  not  spoken  before. 

"  No,  the  truth  is,"  said  the  thin  man,  retracting  at  this 
horrible  translation,  "  I  came  for  a  walk  because  it  is  a  fine 
evening." 

"  Now  let's  be  oflf,  neighbors,"  the  clerk  interrupted. 

The  candle  was  inverted  in  the  socket,  and  the  whole 
party  stepped  out  into  the  churchyard.  The  moon  was  shin- 
ing within  a  day  or  two  of  full,  and  just  overlooked  the  three 
or  four  vast  yews  that  stood  on  the  south-east  side  of  the 
church,  and  rose  in  unvaried  and  flat  darkness  against  the 
illuminated  atmosphere  behind  them. 

"  Good-night,"  the  clerk  said  to  his  comrades,  when  the 
door  was  locked.     "  My  nearest  way  is  through  the  park." 

"  1  suppose  mine  is  too  ?  "  said  the  stranger.  "  1  am  go- 
ing to  the  railway  station." 

"  Of  course — come  on." 

The  two  men  went  over  a  stile  to  the  west,  the  remainder 
of  the  party  going  into  the  road  on  the  opposite  side. 


400  DESPERATE  REMEDIES. 

**  And  so  the  romance  has  ended  well,"  the  clerk's  com- 
panion remarked,  as  they  brushed  along  through  the  grass. 
"But  what  is  the  truth  of  the  story  about  the  property?" 

"  Now  look  here,  neighbor,"  said  Clerk  Crickett.  "  If  so 
be  you'll  tell  me  what  your  line  o'  life  is,  and  your  purpose 
in  comen  here  to-day,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth  about  the  wed- 
den  particulars." 

*'  Very  well — I  will  when  you  have  done,"  said  the  other 
man. 

"'Tis  a  bargain  ;  and  this  is  the  right  o'  the  story.  When 
Miss  Aldclyffe's  will  was  opened  it  was  found  to  have  been 
drawn  up  on  the  very  day  that  Manston  (her  sly-gotten) 
married  Miss  Cytherea  Graye.  And  this  is  what  that  deep 
woman  did.  Deep  ?  she  was  as  deep  as  the  North  Star. 
She  bequeathed  all  her  property,  real  and  personal,  to  ^  the 
wife  of  yEneas  Manston  '  (with  one  exception) :  failen  her 
life  to  her  husband  :  failen  his  life  to  the  hairs  of  his  head — 
body  I  would  say  :  failen  them  to  her  absolutely  and  her 
heirs  forever:  failen  these  to  Pa' son  Raunham,  and  so  on  to 
the  end  o'  the  world.  Now  do  you  see  the  depth  of  her 
scheme  ?  Why,  although  upon  the  surface  it  appeared  her 
whole  property  was  for  Miss  Cytherea,  by  the  word  '  wife  " 
been  used,  and  not  Cytherea's  name,  whoever  was  the  wife 
o'  Manston  would  come  in  for't.  W^asn't  that  rale  depth? 
It  was  done,  of  course,  that  her  son  Aineas,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, should  be  master  o'  the  j^roperty,  without  folk 
knowen  it  was  her  son  or  suspecting  anything,  as  they  would 
if  it  had  been  left  to  en  straightway." 

"  A  clever  arrangement.  And  what  was  the  excep- 
tion ?  " 

"The  payment  of  a  legacy  to  her  relative.  Pa' son  Raun- 
ham." 

"And  Miss  Cytherea  was  now  Manston's  widow  and  only 
relative,  and  inherited  all  absolutely." 

"True,  she  did.  *  Well,'  says  she,  '  I  shan't  have  it'  (she 
didn't  like  the  notion  o'  getten  anything  through  Manston, 
naturally  enough,  pretty  dear).  She  waived  her  right  in 
favor  o'  Mr.  Raunham.  Now,  if  there's  a  man  in  the  world 
that  d'care  nothen  about  land — I  don't  say  there  is,  but  if 
there  is — 'tis  our  pa' son.  He's  like  a  snail.  He's  a-growed 
80  to  the  shape  o'  that  there  rectory  that  'a  wouldn't  think  o' 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES.  4OI 

leavin  it  even  in  name.  *'Tis  yours,  Miss  Graye,'  says 
he.  '  No,  'tis  yours,'  says  she.  '  'Tisn'  mine,'  says  he. 
The  Crown  had  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  case,  thinken 
o'  forfeiture  by  felony, — but  'twas  no  such  thing,  and  'a  gitd 
it  up  too.  Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  tale  ? — three  people,  a 
man  and  a  woman,  and  a  Crown — neither  o'  em  in  a  mad- 
house— flingen  an  estate  backwards  and  forwards  like  an 
apple  or  nut  ?  Well,  it  ended  in  this  way.  Mr.  Raunham 
took  it :  young  Springrove  was  had  as  agent  and  steward, 
and  put  to  live  in  Knapwater  House,  close  here  at  hand — 
just  as  if  'twas  his  own.  He  d'do  just  what  he  d'like — Mr. 
Raunham  never  interferen — and  hither  to-day  he's  brought 
his  new  wife  Cytherea.  And  a  settlement  ha'  been  drawn 
up  this  very  day,  whereby  their  children,  heirs,  and  cetrer,  be 
to  inherit  after  Mr.  Raunham's  death.  Good  fortune  came 
at  last.  Her  brother,  too,  is  doen  well.  He  came  in  first 
man  in  some  architectural  competition,  and  is  about  to  move 
to  London.  Here's  the  house,  look.  Stap  out  from  these 
bushes,  and  you'll  get  a  clear  sight  o't." 

They  emerged  from  the  shrubbery,  breaking  off  towards 
the  lake,  and  down  the  south  slope.  When  they  arrived 
exactly  opposite  the  centre  of  the  mansion,  they  halted. 

It  was  a  magnificent  picture  of  the  English  country-house. 
The  whole  of  the  severe  regular  front,  with  its  columns  and 
cornices,  were  built  of  a  white  smoothly-faced  freestone, 
which  appeared  in  the  rays  of  the  moon  as  pure  as  Pentelic 
marble.  The  sole  objects  in  the  scene  rivalling  the  fairness 
of  the  fa9ade,  were  a  dozen  swans  floating  upon  the  lake. 

At  this  moment  the  central  door  at  the  top  of  the  steps 
was  opened,  and  two  figures  advanced  into  the  light.  Two 
contrasting  figures  were  they.  A  young  lithe  woman  in  an 
airy  fairy  dress — Cytherea  Springrove  :  a  young  man  in  black 
stereotype  raiment — Edward,  her  husband. 

They  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps  together,  looking  at 
the  moon,  the  water,  and  the  general  loveliness  of  tne 
prospect. 

"That's  the  married  man  and  wife — there,  I've  illustrated 
my  story  by  rale  liven  specimens,"  the  clerk  whispered. 

"  To  be  sure  how  close  together  they  do  stand  !  You 
couldn'  slip  a  penny-piece  betwe>in  'em — that  you  couldn'  ! 
Beautiful  to  see  it,  isn't  it — beautiful  !  .  .  .  .   But  this  is  a 


^CT  0  7 1985 


402  DESPERATE  REMEDIES, 

private  path  and  we  won't  let  'em  see  us,  as  all  the  ringers 
be  goen  there  to  a  supper  and  dance  to-morrow  night." 

The  speaker  and  his  companion  softly  moved  on,  passed 
through  the  wicket,  and  into  the  coach-road.  Arrived  at  the 
clerk's  house  at  the  farther  boundary  of  the  park,  they  paused 
to  part.  ^ 

u  yl^V  ^°'"  ^°"'"  ^^'^  °'  ^^^  bargain,"  said  Clerk  Crickett. 
What  s  your  hne  o'  hfe,  and  what  d'ye  come  here  for  ?  " 
"  I'm  the  reporter  to  the  Froominster  Chronicle,  and  I 

come  to  pick  up  news.     Good-night." 

Meanwhile  Edward  and  Cytherea,  after  lineerin^  on  tlie 
steps  for  several  minutes,  slowly  descended  the  slope  to  the 
lake.     The  skiflf  was  lying  alongside. 

"  O  Edward,"  said  Cytherea,  "  you  must  do  something 
that  has  just  come  into  my  head  1  " 

"Well,  dearest— I  know." 

"  Yes— give  me  one  half-minute's  row  on  the  lake  here 
now,  just  as  you  did  on  Creston  Bay  three  years  ago." 

He  handed  her  into  the  boat,  and  almost  noiselessly  pulled 
off  from  shore.  When  they  were  half  way  between  the  two 
margms  of  the  lake,  he  paused  and  looked  at  her. 

"Ah,  darling,  I  remember  exactly  how  I  kissed  you  that 
first  time,"  said  Springrove.  "  You  were  there  as  you  are 
now.  I  unshipped  the  sculls  in  this  way.  Then  I  turned 
round  and  sat  beside  you— in  this  way.  Then  I  put  my 
hand  on  the  other  side  of  your  little  neck " 

"  I  think  it  was  just  on  my  cheek,  in  this  way." 

"  Ah,  so  it  was.  Then  you  moved  that  soft  red  mouth 
round  to  mine — " 

"  But  dearest— you  pressed  it  round  if  you  remember  • 
and  of  course  1  couldn't  then  help  letting  it  come  to  youi 
mouth  without  being  unkind  to  you,  and  I  wouldn't  be  that." 

"  And  then  I  put  my  cheek  against  that  cheek,  and  turned 
my  two  hps  round  upon  those  two  lips,  and  kissed  them— 
so." 


THE  END. 


